


Flip's NSFW Alphabet

by waywardrose



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Almost Somnophilia, Ass Play, Daddy Kink, Doctor/Patient, Drug Use, F/M, Light Bondage, Masturbation, NSFW Alphabet, Naked Female Clothed Male, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Under-negotiated Bondage, Underage Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vague Depictions of Rough Sex, soft domination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 23:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 32,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16842364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardrose/pseuds/waywardrose
Summary: Your legs went limp on Flip’s shoulders, and you felt him eased them down to the bed. He ran his big hands up your sides and then under your back as he bent forward. You were still panting and covered in sweat.





	1. A Is for Aftercare

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s a different take on the NSFW alphabet. Instead of headcanons, I’m doing vignettes. My intention is that each vignette can stand alone. There might be some crossover, but it’ll be accidental on my part.

Your legs went limp on Flip’s shoulders, and you felt him eased them down to the bed. He ran his big hands up your sides and then under your back as he bent forward. You were still panting and covered in sweat. Your pussy was throbbing in the aftermath of your orgasm.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he said and kissed your chest between your breasts. He rubbed his beard against your damp skin.

You let out a soft groan and ran your fingers through his messy hair. He was the gorgeous one. You wanted to thank him for fucking you so well, but your brain couldn’t carry out the _very_ difficult task of forming actual words.

He leaned into your touch. “You good, babygirl?”

You hummed in contentment and met his dark eyes. You hadn’t ever thought of a man glowing, but Flip was glowing. His cheeks were rosy, and you desperately wanted to kiss him. Nothing else, just kiss. Fuck, you realized, you were a goner. There was no recovering from this-- _from him_ \--and you would relish every single moment of your descent.

After trailing kisses up your chest and neck, he said, “C'mon, shower time.”

You protested and pulled him up further to kiss you. Just one last time, and then you’d clean up. You wrapped your limbs around him, hugging him tight. He kissed with teeth and tongue. His lips were puffy against yours, and his hands ran down your back in one long, slow caress.

You catted up against his solid body, just to rub yourself against him. He took advantage of the space between your back and the bed to slide an arm low at your waist. He held you tight and pushed himself back to his knees on the mattress. The motion had his softening cock slipping from you. You groaned against his neck as you felt the hot gush of his come.

He sweetly shushed you, telling you he’d take care of you. He got his hands under your ass, maneuvered off the rumpled bed, and marched into the dim bathroom. It was like he was a man on a mission.

As you turned the bathroom light on for him, you realized you had a mission as well:

Get your hands all over a wet, soapy Flip Zimmerman.


	2. B Is for Body Part

He likes your _everything_. That little valley going down the center of your torso when you stretch is a particular favorite. The shadow of your cleavage he’ll occasionally glimpse gets him yearning to bury his face in your tits. He likes when you wear that clingy blue dress with those strappy metallic heels. You know the ones. That shiny lipgloss you have that makes your lips look sinful is a favorite of his, too. It makes him want to kiss you all over.

He likes the way your ass fills out your jeans. He likes that he has to work his dick inside you. He likes working for it-- _for you_. He adores that when he touches your clit, you light up like fireworks. He likes the clean smell of your sweat, and the way your perfume barely hangs on your neck at the end of the day.


	3. C Is for Cum

You had finally gotten Flip to cool it with his cigarettes. At first, he’d been reluctant, even resistant, to only smoking a few a day--instead of his usual a pack a day. However, once you’d explained why you wanted him to, he’d happily gotten onboard.

You’d even gotten him to eat more fruit by packing his lunch and always including a little Tupperware bowl full of homemade fruit salad.

He came home earlier than usual today, telling you he had to go out that night for surveillance, and you immediately began walking him to the couch. You’d been thinking about getting between his thighs and working his thick cock with your mouth and hands until he came. You told him you wanted to blow him between open-mouthed kisses to his neck. He’d choked out an _“okay”_ and teetered you both across the room.

Once you got him on the couch, he bent forward, cradling your head in his big hands, and kissed you. His tongue tasted of mint candy, but you could smell the cordite on his hands and the Herbal Essence shampoo in his hair. From your position on the carpeted floor between his legs, you leaned heavily on the front of couch and ran your hands over his thighs and hips. You pushed your hands between the cushions and his ass to grope him, and he smiled against your lips.

You pulled back to look into his twinkling brown eyes and grinned. “I would apologize, but I’m not sorry.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t be, honey.”

You told him to lie back and then worked his belt open. With a soft groan, he helped you get his jeans and briefs down to his ankles. You pulled his hips closer to the edge of the couch and gathered saliva on your tongue to wet his cock. At the first touch of your tongue, he shivered and put a hand on your forearm.

The clean musk of him had you groaning and laving his tightening balls with your tongue. He said something encouraging, but you didn’t catch it. You steadied his cock with one hand while the other held his undershirt and red flannel out of your way.

You tasted his tangy precome and took the head of his cock in your mouth, sucking at it like a lollipop. The heat of his dick, the heft of it on your tongue, the way he let you do whatever you wanted was what you’d been burning for all day.

Above you, Flip groaned and let his head tip back against the couch. You took him further, twisting your head as you pulled back. With each stroke, your lips met your fist at the base and then you began using your hand to work his cock. He moved with you and panted how good your hot little mouth felt.

His thighs tensed on either side of you, and his hands gripped you--one still on your forearm, the other at the nape of your neck. You looked up the line of his straining body to meet his smoldering eyes. His cheeks were flushed, as were his lips from where he’d been biting them.

He tasted perfect.

“Oh fuck, baby, you’re so good to me,” he breathed out.

You answered him by letting your eyes go half-mast and just sucking at the tip of his dick. You pressed your tongue to the frenulum, tracing flat compact circles over it. He groaned out a wicked curse, his hand fisted in the hair at the back of your head, and he tried to push his cock in deeper.

You smiled with your eyes and gave him what he so badly needed. You _wanted_ to give it to him. You sucked harder and ignored the aching of your jaw. You pumped your hand in time with your mouth. You wanted him to lose control. You wanted him to come undone. You wanted to taste his pleasure.

He suddenly warned you he was going to come. You pulled off, let your mouth go slack, and rested the fat head of his cock on your tongue. You stroked his spit-slick cock with your wet fist as you stared up at him.

His chest was heaving. His long body was taut and clenched. His thick, shaggy hair shadowed his eyes from the sunlight coming in through the big picture window next to the couch. You could still see the way his eyes glittered with hunger for you, though. That hunger made everything below your waist thrum with need. You were keenly aware of the dampness of your panties.

He let out a groan which cut off midway, and then you felt it. His cock pulsed in your hand as he striped your tongue with come. It was sharp, salty, and musky--and a hell of lot less bitter.

After the last surges of his orgasm died down, he was still staring down at you. His hands shook as he loosened his grip on you. You drew back to sit, finally noticing how sore your knees were, and visibly swallowed. You gave him a little smirk before showing him your bare tongue.

“Goddamn, get up here,” he growled and pulled you onto his lap.

He kissed you as he got two handfuls of your ass. He pulled you tight against him and kissed your neck. His beard tickled, and you giggled like an imp.

And then your giggles dissolved into moans.


	4. D Is for Dirty Secret

Now that you were an adult, dressing for Halloween seemed silly. However, you’d found a fantastic deal at the thrift store while trying to find Flip a decent replacement for a jacket which had gotten ruined during a stakeout. Said fantastic deal was a light-blue, polka-dotted shirtwaist dress straight from _The Donna Reed Show_.

You had laughed when you held it up. You thought of splattering it with fake blood and then getting one of those plastic prop butcher knives Kmart sold before Halloween. You could give out candy while looking like a housewife/serial killer. It would be perfect.

At the same thrift store, you’d found a princess-length string of large fake pearls and an embroidered sheer hostess apron. The dress itself had a built-in crinoline for volume, you noted, so it would be easy to wear. You remembered you still had a pair of kitten heels you’d worn at graduation which would go with the dress.

It was like the costume was written in the stars.

However, once you got the costume home and tried it all on, you didn’t want to destroy it with fake blood. It was so _cute_. You looked like a sweet little housewife. All you needed was a martini in your hand for Flip. With a thoughtful hum, you hid the whole shebang at your end of the bedroom closet and decided to wait before you went splattering everything.

You knew Flip, as a detective, was not a fan of Halloween. He didn’t like working that night. He didn’t care about giving out candy. He didn’t even like horror movies--not even the campy ones. He was generally a stick in the mud the whole week leading up to Halloween.

Lucky for everyone, Flip had gotten the night of Halloween off, and you decided to treat him by cooking a pot roast with extra carrots. You’d picked up a six-pack of Coors along with fresh green beans to roast and a package of egg noodles for butter-parmesan noodles. He wasn’t much of a sweets guy, but you chose an apple-pie ice cream for dessert just in case.

After you got the green beans in the oven for roasting, you dashed upstairs to change into your Donna Reed costume. You’d done your hair and makeup after getting the roast in to cook a few hours ago. The prop knife was ready to go with its dry coating of red craft paint. You intended to keep the prop knife in the pocket of the sheer hostess apron to give it that subtle creep factor.

However, you hadn’t been able to ruin the dress.

It didn’t matter, though. No one would care about your costume. You were just having fun. It was all about the kids, anyway.

As you were pulling the finished green beans out of the oven, you heard the front door open and Flip announce himself. You replied you were in the kitchen. He remarked on how good the house smelled.

And then it went silent.

You set the hot tray on top of the range and turned to see Flip in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. He was staring at you with one hand holding onto the woodwork with a white-knuckled grip.

You gave him a hesitant smile and explained you’d found the dress at the thrift store. You told him you had planned to splatter it with fake blood, but chickened out at the last minute. You couldn’t destroy it, you explained. You then pulled the prop knife from your hostess apron to show him.

He hardly responded, and you almost worried your bottom lip between your teeth before remembering you had lipstick on.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

He came at you then, striding up to you like a predator. You pressed yourself back against the cabinets. You knew that look. Flip only looked like that when he had been denied you for too long.

He kissed you like he was dying. He ruined your lipstick, but it hardly mattered. It felt so good to have him feeling you up and ravishing your mouth. He felt desperate as he pressed himself against you and ground his pelvis against your belly. _God_ , he was so hard. His cock felt like a hot thick iron rod through his jeans.

He broke the kiss to pick you up and walk you to the kitchen table.

You clung to him. “I guess you like it.”

He gently laid you down on top of the table and got to his knees. He spread your legs, burrowed under your dress, and hooked your knees over his shoulders. You could feel his lips trail kisses up your inner thighs, and you writhed on the table. He pulled your panties to the side, and then his tongue was licking up your slit.

 _“Flip!”_ you cried as he found your clit.


	5. E Is for Experience

He’d told you about Elaine, an on-again/off-again girlfriend he’d had while in the police academy. Once he’d made detective, she’d had enough of the stress and left. _Off for good._

He’d told you he had a hard time with relationships.

“Hazard of the job,” he’d said.

He’d told you about the one-night stands. He’d assured you he’d always used a rubber, just like he had with you in the beginning. He’d told you once you came into the picture, he hadn’t bothered with other women. And you believed him. You felt he’d never kept anything from you about your relationship.

Now he sat beside you on your sofa and wouldn’t look at you. You’d tried starting conversation, but he barely responded. He felt so unlike himself, so distant. _Cold._ You wondered what he was holding back.

It was late on a Friday night, and _Wide World of Entertainment_ had just signed off. The local commercials were playing, and you wanted to turn the television off. But that would mean you’d have to ask him what the hell was up and probably start a fight. Or invite him to stay while ignoring the growing tension. Or see him to the door--which could mean something disastrous.

However, all the possibilities were paralyzing and frightening.

Because he wouldn’t _look_ at you. He’d hardly laughed during the news parody. He’d barely touched the beer you’d gotten him. Hell, he hadn’t even hugged you after you let him into your apartment.

All the signs were there, weren’t they? He was breaking up with you. You’d thought everything had been smooth sailing. Yes, you two had arguments. It was usually over little things--like who should cook that night or what constituted as dirty laundry or which movie to see--and it always blew over quickly. You two agreed on the big things, though. And there hadn’t been even any minor bickering in over a week.

He was bored, you realized. That must be it. You didn’t challenge him enough. You were no doormat, of course, and you didn’t take any shit. There were just a lot of things you saw like he did.

Maybe you weren’t exciting in bed. You were down with experimenting and always had been. Experimenting hadn’t come up yet, but you’d give plenty of things the old college try. You enjoyed being with him, regardless. He kissed you like you’d always dreamed of being kissed. He held you and made you feel safe. And when he made love with you, it was hot and intimate and passionate. Overwhelming sometimes, but _fantastic_.

You’d thought it had been emotionally charged, too.

Neither of you had ever discussed emotions, or even brought them up. It seemed to be an understood thing between you. You knew--or had thought--he cared about you. He always seemed content around you, giving you easy smiles and pulling you close and sharing what he could about his cases. He actually listened to you, too, and tried to fix problems for you. It was sweet.

 _He_ was sweet.

Lately, you’d been thinking about him being in your life in a long-term way. Like, moving in together and grocery shopping and spooning him in a new bed the two of you had picked out.

It probably wasn’t going to happen now.

You felt your eyes start to water. Now was _not_ the time, you berated yourself. You gathered his mostly-full beer and your empty ice-tea glass from the coffee table. If you were going to freak out, you wouldn’t do it while he worked up the nerve to leave you.

You went to the kitchen sink and rinsed out your glass. You picked up his beer, finding it cold and not yet flat. It would be a waste to pour it down the drain, you thought. You took a few long pulls from it and then stared at your reflection in the black window over the sink. You looked over your reflection’s shoulder to see Flip’s in the kitchen doorway.

“Why’re you drinking my beer, baby?”

You looked down at the beer bottle in your hand. “Am I your baby?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“You won’t look at me. Won’t touch me. I don’t think you’ve said five words since you got here.”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

 _“That’s never stopped you before.”_ That came out with more venom than you’d intended.

He took a few steps into the tiny kitchen. “About us, actually.”

Yeah, you could guess what was on his mind. You huffed and took another drink of beer. You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. You decided you didn’t want to hear it.

“Why don’t you just make it quick and go, okay?”

“Make what quick?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Flip, _just break up with me already!”_ you cried as you slammed the bottle on counter. The beer fizzed and bubbled up in the bottle. You gripped the narrow slice of counter in front of the sink and let your head fall forward. Your ears were ringing as you forced your tears back.

His voice was so close when he replied, “I don’t want to break up. Do you?”

You shook your head, unable to form words without sobbing. Of course, you didn’t want to break up. He was a wonderful guy. The heat of his body was suddenly against your back and his arms snaked around your middle. You wanted to lean against him, but if you let go of the counter, you were sure your ass would meet the floor.

“I’ve been thinking of how to tell you I love you.”

Hot, heavy, unexpected tears rolled down your cheeks at his confession. _Holy shit, he loved you._ And here you were, acting like a nut.

“How’s that coming along?” you croaked, trying to relieve the tension.

“Not so great.”

You smiled and shakily exhaled. “I’ll say.”

You felt him nudge your hair out of his way and kiss the side of your neck. His lips were a little chapped, but softened as he continued. The touch of his lips became delicate, just grazing your skin. The softness of his kisses sent a frisson down to your nipples. You felt them pucker against your bra. As if he knew how your body was reacting, his hands slid up your torso and stopped right under your breasts.

“I’m not used to this, you know,” he said softly and spread his fingers over your ribs.

You nodded because you understood him. He loved you, and the feeling was new to him. You pressed back against his front. It was new to you, too. You’d never felt for another partner what you felt for him.

He cradled your breasts and ran his thumbs over your nipples. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I scared myself.” You shivered and arched against him.

He pushed his hips tight to you, the bulge of his cock rubbed right against the seam of your jeans. He pinched your nipples through your shirt, and it zinged all the way down to your toes.

“Do you love me?” he asked, his deep voice right in your ear. His lips grazed the corner of your jaw.

You opened your eyes--not remembering when you closed them--to look at his reflection. He was looking back, looking at you. Maybe looking into you.

“I love you.”

His hands were back at your waist to pull you flush against him. “I love you, too.”

You turned just a little to look back at him. He swooped down and kissed you hard. His tongue slid against yours as his fingers worked open your jeans. You reached up to hold his head in place as you kissed him back.

You felt your jeans loosen and then his hand was slithering between your stomach and underwear. His fever-hot hand pressed against the low curve of your belly between your hipbones. He broke the kiss to brush away the tracks of your tears with his free hand.

“No more crying.”

You shook your head in agreement. You’d been ridiculous to doubt the relationship. He’d never done anything to hurt you, even when you two fought. He was the first one who made you feel like an equal, and safe, and treasured.

He got you facing the window again and pressed tight to your back. You rested your head against his shoulder as he cupped your mound, letting his thick middle finger just rest on your slit.

“It seems to me that if you’re unsure, I’m not doing my job.”

“Flip, I--”

“No, baby, I’m going make it very clear where I stand.” His finger pushed between the delicate folds of your pussy. “I want you to feel it.”

The first touch to your clit had you drawing in a breath. You weren’t slick enough yet, but you were getting there. With his other hand, he messaged one of your breasts as he went back to kissing your neck. He told how good you smelled, how soft your skin was, how he thought about you during the day.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he murmured. “Love your pussy, too.”

He stroked your clit as you got wetter, and you couldn’t stop the little sound you made. He kissed your temple in reply. “There we go.”

He began to work your clit in tight little circles. You gripped his forearm to anchor yourself as the first wash of pleasure colored your body. The hot ridge of his dick was against your ass, and you rolled against him.

You could feel the tension building in your body. You couldn’t keep still. You put your hands on the counter in front of you to brace yourself. It was too much. In silent reply, he put an arm around your middle to control your movements and keep you against him.

Together, you both moved. His hips were snug against your ass. All you could think about was coming and his thick cock pumping inside you and his big hands pulling you back to him and his lips on your neck and him telling you how much he loves you. You helplessly keened at the rambling thoughts going through your head, and squeezed your thighs together.

Your heart was beating so strongly. You felt like you were right at the edge--right at the end. And all through it Flip was at your back, giving you what you needed.

When orgasm hit, you cried out in pleasure and almost collapsed forward. The internal beat of it-- _fuck, the throb of it_ \--stole any strength you thought you had. He held you up, though, telling you he could feel it, and stroked your oversensitive clit in time with the pulsating of your wet cunt. You writhed in his arms and begged.

You didn’t even know what you were asking for.

He pulled his hand from your panties and brought it up to mouth. You watched him suck on his wet finger. He practically purred, and your cunt gave one more clench as though your body hadn’t had enough.

Maybe it hadn’t.

Flip met your eyes and angled you to kiss you. You tasted the tang of your own come on his tongue. He gently held your face and stroked your cheekbone with his thumb.

He pulled back an inch to whisper, “You don’t know what you do to me, babygirl.”

He nuzzled under your jaw and kissed your throat. He mumbled something as you pushed your fingers into his hair, but you didn’t catch it. It didn’t matter because you knew it was good.

He kissed his way back to your lips. You sucked on his bottom lip and pulled a moan straight from his chest.

“Show me,” you breathlessly challenged.

“I will.”

He hooked his fingers in your underwear and jeans and pulled them down mid-thigh. He gripped your hips and pushed you against the cool counter. In response, you arched your back and bent forward a little to hover over the empty sink. He cursed as he got his hands on your ass and gave you a squeeze.

You looked over your shoulder to watch him undo his belt and get his jeans open. His hard cock bounced against your ass as he pushed his boxers down. The oozing tip of it left a wet, syrupy smear on your skin which had you wiggling to get him inside you.

He took hold of his fat cock, and you turned back to the dark window. He ran the thick head between the slick folds of your pussy. When it bumped against your sensitive clit, you couldn’t stop the mewl of his name.

“I know,” he whispered. “Me too.”

And then his dick was pushing inside you. The girth of him had you groaning and wanting to spread your legs. He eased in, slowly grinding the full length of his erection in you. When his pelvis met the underside of your ass, he pressed against your back.

You felt the softness of his flannel shirt pool at your waist, and his breath tickled your ear and neck. With each shallow breath you took, you felt your cunt relax around him. He was always so much to take, and sometimes it felt like he filled up every available space inside you.

“You know I love you every day.” He put hand at the center of your upper chest. “Even when we fight.”

You let your head tip back to rest on his shoulder as you relaxed against him. You told him you loved him too, and he hummed. His hips started flexing just to rock his dick inside you. It felt good, but you wanted more. You moved counter to him, trying to get that delicious friction you so craved.

“You want more, huh?” he asked.

“Give it to me.”

And he did. He got a firm hold of your hips and began pumping his cock inside you. Each in-stroke filled you so perfectly and pushed a pleasured whimper from you. It seemed to spur him on until you had to brace yourself with one hand on the window-frame and other on the counter next to the abandoned beer.

He adjusted his stance, and his cock was suddenly angled just right. You moaned out a _yes_ and let your head flop forward. If he kept going, you knew you were going to come. You’d never done it without stimulation to your clit. Even the previous times before with him. It wasn’t a big deal, but this felt different.

His dick felt huge, and he growled, “Fuckin’ tight. God, you’re so wet.”

“Please, Flip.”

His fingers dug into your hips, and he gave you everything he had. He’d said he wanted you to feel him, and you did. Over and over he worked his cock in your body, driving you closer to a pinnacle with each thrust of his hips. You felt it, _felt him_ , giving you what you needed.

When you reached that pinnacle, you cried out as you felt your body lock up for a thrilling second. Then with throbbing, rushing pleasure, your orgasm stole your strength. You sagged, resting your chin on the long neck of the faucet, and felt each pulse of your slick pussy drumming in time with Flip’s thrusts.

He slowed down, still hard, and you realized he hadn’t come. You struggled to prop yourself on an elbow and look over your shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He stilled with his cock deep inside you. “Wanna see your face.”

You nodded and pushed yourself up. He took it from there. He eased out of you--both of you hissing--and turned you. He kissed you again--deep and slow. Like honey. Like love.

When he broke the kiss, you almost cried. It wasn’t in pain or in mourning. It was in adoration.

He eased your jeans and panties down until they pooled at your feet and then he put his hands on your waist. He lifted you onto the counter next to the sink and got between your thighs. He was still taller than you, and you smiled up him. He smiled back, his seasoned-detective persona all-but forgotten.

His dark eyes glittered in the yellow glow of the range-hood light. His hairline was stringy and damp with a sweat. His cheeks were flushed, as were his luscious lips.

“C'mere,” you said and reeled him in by his shirt.

He pressed right up against you, his wet dick bumping against your belly. You playfully rubbed your nose against his before angling your head and kissing him. You took the initiative and wrapped a hand around his erection. He moaned against your lips as you caressed the tender head of his cock.

You whispered, “Fuck me, please. Come in me.” You brushed your lips against his. “Fill me up.”

His cock jumped in your fist. “Ah shit, yeah, baby, I can do that.”

You leaned back against the upper cabinets and spread your thighs. He edged his hips back, and you got the head of his cock nestled right at your opening. He pushed right in, all hot and smooth and heavy, like your body was made for his.

He got an arm around your lower back and guided one of your legs up until your heel rested on the counter. He started slow and briefly kissed you.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, buried your hands in his hair, and looked deep into his eyes. The usual sharp intelligence in his gaze seeped away as he moved faster.

His cock was pistoning inside you. _Fuck_ , he was so hard. His choppy breath rushed over your lips.

He pushed a hand between your bodies and got his thumb right over your swollen clit. This time, he didn’t circle it. He massaged it right against your pubic bone. You wanted to protest, because your clit was sore, but you began shaking with another build-up to orgasm. You scrabbled in surprise and writhed against him only to end up clawing at his shoulders.

“Come on my cock, baby-- _oh_ \--girl, I love you so much,” he groaned and rested his temple against yours.

This orgasm hit you like a Mack truck. You fisted his shirt and shrieked as it wrecked you. You felt like one big convulsing nerve. Everything--every texture, every touch--added to an ecstasy that teetered on the edge of torment.

Flip moaned out a curse and plowed into you a few more heart-stopping times before flooding you with his come. You felt it hit your cervix and you groaned in satisfaction. You buried your face in his neck and breathed in the scent of his musk and sweat.

After a moment, he got a hand in the hair at the back of your head. He pulled at your hair and forced you to look up at him. You were both panting and sweating. He studied your face, his gaze settling on your mouth for a second too long.

“Do you see what you do to me now?” he asked.

You licked your lips. “Yes.”


	6. F Is for Favorite Position

The phone rang, loud and clangy. You put down the issue of _Cosmo_ you’d been browsing through and rushed into the kitchen to answer it. Unfortunately, it was someone trying to get you to switch your telephone service.

When you came back into the living room, you saw Flip was now ignoring the TV and intently reading your magazine. You observed him for a second before sitting back down on the sofa. He glanced over at you and then did a double-take.

“Who was on the phone?” he asked.

“Nobody. Just a telemarketer.”

He grunted and went back to _Cosmo_. When the commercial break ended and the announcer welcomed everyone back to “The Garden in chilly Boston, Massachusetts,” he briefly looked up at the TV and then continued reading. You wanted to playfully grab the magazine from him because he’d insisted on watching the game at your place. While you didn’t mind basketball, you would’ve rather had _Movie of the Week_ on.

Flip turned the magazine in your direction. “Have you seen this article yet?”

You leaned forward to look at the initial two-page spread of the article, _Kama Sutra: The New Old Sex_. It had tasteful, non-explicit illustrations of couples in various sex positions. There were a few paragraphs, too, and then cutlines for the illustrations.

It would explain why the issue had been wrapped in plastic.

You shook your head and met his eyes. There was something dark and hungry suddenly written across his features. It was a nice look to see on a Saturday afternoon. Doubly so when neither of you had made plans for the rest of the day.

He nudged the coffee table away with his foot. “Sit on my lap, back to me. I wanna try something.”

As you crawled the short distance to him, he slouched just a little and spread his thighs. You plucked the magazine from his hands and tossed it on the coffee table. He then helped you maneuver your knee across his lap.

From over your shoulder you watched his face as you dragged the crotch of your jeans down his lower torso. He gnawed on his bottom lip. His gaze was glued to your ass. As you spread your knees and settled on his lap, you felt his hands on your hips.

You wiggled like you were getting comfortable and then arched your back. He hummed and smoothed his hands down the outside of your thighs. You gave his knees a squeeze. As if in reply, he ran his hands up your legs and hips, then up the sides of your curved torso.

Then his big hands were cupping your breasts. He stroked the undersides and ran the pads of his fingers over your nipples. His touch was light and almost teasing.

And then gone.

“Bend forward,” he murmured.

You curled forward until you were parallel with his thighs. It was a good position, but not one you’d seen in the article. You were about to ask him what he wanted when he said:

“All the way down.”

You nodded and walked your hands down until you had to tilt your hips. You felt his hands steadying you, and he told you he had you. You lowered yourself down until your ribs rested against the cushioned sofa edge and your elbows just grazed the floor. You adjusted your position, sliding your knees around and back, tucking your feet behind his arms.

Flip pulled your hips back so your groin was right against his. You could feel the heat of him. He ground his half-hard cock up against you. You stared down at the carpet with your mouth open.

Because you were sure if he was inside you right now, it would feel amazing.

“You know, I’m usually a missionary man, but I could get used to this.”

You felt his hands on your inner thighs, his fingers rubbing on either side of the thick seam going between your legs. Your pussy throbbed at the light pressure. You pushed back against his fingers as much as you could. It was almost enough.

He massaged your ass and then gave it an easy smack. You groaned and wiggled against him.

“Want me to fuck you like this, baby?”

“Yes!”

He bent forward and wrapped his arms around your waist to haul you back against him. You stiffened your spine to make it easier while letting your knees slide forward again. He hugged you for a moment--fondling everything, from your breasts to your lower belly--and kissed your neck.

“You get your sexy ass to the bedroom,” he growled in your ear. “I’ll take care of the TV.”

You smiled. “Yes, sir.”

You got off his lap once he released you and grabbed the magazine. You had a feeling you were going to need that article as the day went on.


	7. G Is for Goofy

You stepped out of the cold mid-December evening and into the cozy bar. It was decorated for the holidays with boughs of fake holly behind the bar, ornaments dangling from the drop-ceiling tiles, and swags of colorful Christmas lights tacked to the walls.

Carol from work had set you up on a blind date. The guy was her brother Jimmy’s fellow detective with the CSPD. She’d described the detective as single, handsome, and hard-working--around your age. She’d said she’d met him once and had been, to put it in her words, disappointed she was already married.

The guy’s name was Phillip Zimmerman, but he went by Flip. The only identifying information you had been given was he was white, tall, with longer black hair and dark eyes. He had a goatee, too.

You knew he liked basketball and Led Zeppelin. He was a decent cook who could make awesome potato latkes. He read best-sellers, enjoyed Stephen King’s Carrie, and liked going to the movies. You were told he was rather liberal and usually voted Democrat.

Overall, he seemed like a decent guy and you had agreed to the date. Carol had set it all up within a few days. So quick, it made your head spin. It wasn’t a serious date, you reassured yourself. You were only meeting him for a drink on a weekday night. There was no pressure to stay long.

You untied the belt of your coat and looked around the bar to find this Flip. Movement caught your eye, and you saw a dark-haired man with a goatee straighten to his full height. He had on a dark plaid button-up shirt and brown corduroy sport jacket over jeans. He met your eyes and gave you a little grin.

You smiled back and headed for him. Carol had been right: He _was_ handsome. He greeted you by confirming your name. You nodded and confirmed his. He offered to help you with your coat and get you a drink. Once you were settled in the half-round banquette, you asked him for your usual drink.

You watched him stand at the bar, waiting as the bartender filled his order. You admired his broad shoulders and thick wavy hair. When he came back, he sat close enough for easy conversation.

You offered a toast to beginnings. He smiled and tapped his beer against your tumbler. After you both took a drink, you asked him if he’d been waiting long.

He gave you a sly look. “No, but you would’ve been worth the wait.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Very smooth!”

“Pretty proud of myself right now--just came up with that.”

“You know, Carol failed to mention how charming you are.”

“Are you kidding?” He leaned in, and you got the barest whiff of his spicy cologne. “I feel like a square right now.”

“You don’t seem like one to me.”

“Yeah, well, I had to psych myself up before I got here.”

You asked how he’d done that. He started by telling you he worked in Intelligence and had helped infiltrate a gang during one case. Your eyes went wide--because that sounded terrifying. He put a warm hand on yours while assuring you it all was pretty routine.

His hand was huge compared to yours and callused. It was _nice_. You didn’t pull away.

“Anyway, I had to imitate the lead officer. Sound like him,” he said. “So, we sat down together and read the Godfather of Soul--”

You giggled. _“James Brown?!”_

“James Brown.” He held up his hands with a big grin on his face. The glow from the multicolored Christmas lights reflected in his twinkling eyes. “So, we sat down and read ‘Say It Loud’ together. He told me to let it _flow_.” He dragged out the last syllable.

“And you were flowing.”

He raised up in his seat and rolled his hips. “Damn right, I was flowing.” You tried not to stare as his undulating groin as he kept going. “We’ve been buked,” he said with all seriousness. “We’ve been scorned.”

“We’ve been treated bad,” you added and wiggle-danced in your seat with him.

He imitated James Brown: “Brother, we can’t quit--until we get our share!”

You both laughed as he settled back in his seat. You took a sip of your drink, feeling much more relaxed. And _flushed_. His jeans had clung just right to his thighs. You wondered how he worked those hips in bed.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, it helped.” His cheeks were tinged pink.

Goddamn, he was _sexy_.

“It does!” You angled yourself towards him. “I’d like to meet this lead officer one day.”

“Oh,” he said as he wiped any beer foam from his mustache. “I don’t know if I could compare to that sort of competition.”

You looked him up and down, letting your interest be seen. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”


	8. H Is for Hair

He loves it when you play with his hair. When you run your nails over his scalp, it takes all the tension away. Sometimes, he would have you sit across his lap. He’d rest his head on your shoulder and pray you start finger-combing his hair. And when you do, he has to swallow back a moan at the relief.

He’d never ask you, of course. He wasn’t very good at asking for the softer things. He knew that about himself. He was working on it.

And it was worth working on it with you. You’ve been by his side for almost a year. You’ve never run away, screaming into the night, when he’s requested certain _things_. You usually ask question after question, getting him worked up with the innocence of your inquiries. You almost always then want a practical demonstration--which he was more than happy to oblige.

You’re now sitting on the other end of the couch with your bare feet propped on the coffee table. Money for the pizza delivery near your heel. The evening news was on, but he couldn’t pay attention to the half-truths being broadcast. He wiped his damp palms against his thighs and then crossed his arms over his chest. He felt like he was going to explode.

Maybe he should get a cold beer or bust out that nice bourbon you’d gotten him for his birthday.

He felt eyes on him and he looked in your direction. You were giving him this soft grin. No one had ever looked at him like that before. It made him feel warm all over.

You rested an arm on the low back of the couch and patted your leg with your other hand. After a second of internal arguing, he scooted closer to you and lay down on his side, pillowing his head on your thigh. He let out a deep sigh as he got comfortable.

You’d stayed still the whole time. You felt so at ease to him. Your skirt smelled of laundry detergent.

It was heaven.

And then your fingers began combing through his hair. They ghosted over the rim of his ear. It made him shiver in the best way, and he hummed. You made a questioning sound. He replied with a positive grunt. He felt you affectionately snicker.

You continued playing with his hair, combing it and gently twirling locks of it between your fingers. Even though your slow movements were unpredictable, they were relaxing. You were making his spine turn to jelly.

Everything outside of the apartment disappeared as you stroked his hair. He didn’t care about the case they’d just closed. He wasn’t worried about the next one he could feel coming. It was just you and him--and hopefully soon, a pizza.

He closed his eyes. “Thanks.”


	9. I Is for Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you’re Jewish, pretend you’re a (unfortunate 😉) Gentile for this part.

He had a hand at the nape of your neck, keeping you against his front and eye-to-eye with him. His other had gripped your hip, controlling how fast your bodies came together. His thick cock pumped inside you, going deep, and keeping you on that pleasured edge in post-orgasm.

You ran your hands over his shoulders as you rode him and braced yourself with palms on his firm pecs. His dark eyes were burning up at you with emotion. His cheeks were painted pink. His lips were puffy and flushed red from kisses--open as he panted.

“Gonna come,” he murmured.

You tensed and began moving faster. “Good.”

“Ah shit, feel so… _Fuck!”_

His eyes went half-mast as he let out a litany of curses. He thrust up a handful of times before he brokenly groaned and his grip on you tightened. You felt his dick pulsate inside you. He was so deep, you practically felt his climax in your chest. The wetness of it only added to the sticky, slippery slide between your bodies.

Once he stilled, you leaned in to kiss his sharp jaw, glad that you could give him something good. The edge of his goatee prickled at your lips. He hummed and turned his head to catch you in a lazy kiss.

You smoothed back his shaggy, sweat-dampened hair and smiled down at him. He was so handsome and tender and generous. You were proud to be his lover. His gaze was warm and sated while his hands stroked down your back. They settled low at the small of your back--big and warm against your cooling skin.

You gave him another kiss before settling on top of him. You rested your cheek on his sweaty shoulder and played with the delicate gold chain around his neck. The gold Magen David charm was hidden by his black hair. You gently fished it out and drew it down onto his chest.

As you smoothed the chain and charm down, he stopped your hand. You felt the atmosphere change in an instant, and you wondered if you’d done something wrong. His thumb stroked the back of your hand, quickly dispelling your tension.

“You know, I thought about taking this off before our first time.”

You frowned and then kissed his shoulder. “Why?”

He shrugged the shoulder you weren’t lying on. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.”

“It’s just a necklace.”

“Yeah, but it means something.”

“Of course it does. It means you’re Jewish.”

“I didn’t know how you’d feel about that.”

“Why would I mind that?”

He was quiet for a second before replying: “I have to hide it sometimes--when undercover.”

“I know.”

“I thought--”

You got it: he’d feared he needed to hide it from you, too. But it didn’t matter to you. Not that it wasn’t important, but it hadn’t changed your feelings at all.

You sat up a little to look into his bourbon-brown eyes. “I’d seen it before your shirt came off, you know. I figured out your background when the rest of your clothes came off, too.”

He grinned. “I thought you might’ve been overcome by my physical presence to not notice my missing foreskin.”

“Yeah, well, I noticed, and it didn’t deter me.”

He teased, “You just wanted to get your hands on my big Jew dick.”

"Damn right, I did.”

He laughed, his eyes twinkling in the low light coming from the hallway door. You leaned forward to kiss him. You tried to get the message across that you found him sexy and interesting and more important than the differences between you. He purred into the kiss as his hand on your lower back moved lower to grope your ass.

The kiss was interrupted by you both smiling.

“One time, a perp wanted to see my johnson,” he said, his tone light. “Sat me down with a lie-detector machine and everything.”

“Oh my God, what?”

He kissed your chin. “Yeah, wanted to know if I was a Jew.”

“What did you do?”

“Argued with him.” He kissed under your jaw. “Implied he was queer for caring about my dick.”

“Did you have to show him anyway?” you asked as you caressed his cheek and jaw.

“Nah, Ron created a distraction.”

You gnawed on your bottom lip for a second. “You know I don’t care either way, right?”

You two hadn’t sat down to talk about feelings, but you knew he cared. You hoped he knew you adored him. Your acceptance of him had been easy-- _natural--_ because he was a good man. His religious background was a fact about him which hardly factored into your feeling for him. It was something cool--something different than you.

He curled his hand around yours on his chest and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know.”


	10. J Is for Jack Off and K Is for Kink

He hadn’t seen you in almost a week. Though, he had talked to you on the phone last night. You’d told him you missed him. He misses you, too. It had been so sweet to have your sexy voice in his ear. He had slumped in the corner of the couch and gave his dick a squeeze. He’d told you to touch yourself, and you had. _Fuck_ , had you ever. He still had the echoes of your sighs and your whines and how your breath caught just before you came in his head.

It was now three in the morning. He’d just gotten home from an uneventful stakeout. He was buzzing with frustration with the case and a deep longing for you. He wanted to eat you out until you were gushing against his tongue and moaning for a good fucking.

But that wasn’t going to happen tonight.

Sometimes, he thought as he locked up his service pistol for the night, being a beat cop had been so much easier. _Simpler._ He’d usually been home on time, for one.

He hung up his holster in the closet and then stripped all the way down. He felt sticky from sitting in a humid car all goddamn evening. He needed a shower.

He turned on the showerhead and waited for the water to heat up. As he stood there, he thought of being a beat cop again. What if he’d been called to your house? Maybe dispatch would send him for a routine call. Noise violation. Indecent exposure.

It would be mid-afternoon on a hot, sunny day. He could dismiss any anxiety by telling himself it was probably some high-school kids having an impromptu party. He planned on scaring the shit out of them and then going on his way after giving them a warning.

When he arrived at the scene, though, he found nothing out of the ordinary. He rang the doorbell, but no one answered. His gut told him to check out the backyard. He remembered back in the day sitting with his friends on the patio as they smoked weed and bullshitted.

He walked around to the side of the house. At the back gate, he heard a radio playing one of the local rock stations. It wasn’t at a level which warranted a call to the police, however.

Still, he had to investigate. He ventured farther onto the property and came to see you in the middle of the yard. You were lying on your stomach on a big, colorful beach towel. Your skin had a sheen of tanning oil. And you were only wearing striped bikini bottoms.

The top was discarded by the radio.

You were so beautiful with your hair up and your skin getting darker. The triangle of the bottoms was slouched real low and just covered the cleft of your round ass. The flimsy ties at your hips practically beckoned him to unknot them.

The heavy trousers of his uniform instantly got tighter. He tried to ignore it and be professional. He knocked on the aluminum siding of the house to get your attention.

You jolted and raised yourself up on your elbows. He could see your nipples now. Your breasts just brushed against the towel under you. He suddenly wanted to cup them and tease your nipples until they were hard against his palms.

When you saw him, you grabbed the towel in front you and covered your front. You sat up and tucked the edges of the towel under your arms.

“Excuse me, ma'am. Gotta call for a noise violation.” He didn’t want to mention the indecent exposure. That would surely make you get dressed.

“Oh, I, uh… I just had the radio on.”

“Yeah, I can see-- _hear_ that.”

You fumbled to turn the radio off. In your scrabble, your knees caught on the big towel and pulled it down. With a cute squeak, your arms immediately went to cover your breasts. Naturally, the radio was no longer taking precedence. You looked up at him with big eyes which begged him not to arrest you.

He took mercy on you and slowly approached with raised hands. He crouched down and switched off the radio. This close, he could smell the delicious fruity-coconut-vanilla scent of your tanning oil.

“I’m not in trouble, am I?” you asked and wet your lips.

He studied your fresh, pretty face for a second. Holy shit, you were so fucking _pretty_. From your soft cheeks to your pouty lips to your messy bun of hair and the perfect slope of your shoulders. He had the overwhelming urge to kiss you.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “You certainly look like trouble.”

You gave him a coy little smile. “Well, you haven’t seen all of me yet.”

You lowered your arms to expose your tan-line-free tits. You let your hands rest on your thighs, all demure. He stared at your chest, feeling like he’d been sucker-punched. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing. No one had ever been so audacious with him.

“That’s indecent exposure, ma'am. I can’t let you off with just a warning now.”

He reached for the handcuffs hooked on his utility belt. You straightened up then and leaned forward, your hand on his knee. The action pushed your breasts together. He could imagine sliding his dick between them.

“Maybe we can work something out, officer?”

You pushed yourself up and caught his lips with your own. Acting on instinct, he tilted his head to deepened the kiss. You mewled and your sweet tongue snuck out to taste him. His head was swimming, and he fell forward to his knees, but he still fished out his cuffs.

At the first click of one cuff around your wrist, you pulled back with a frown. Before you could question him, he said:

“If you’re a good girl for Daddy, I won’t take you down to the station.”

You nodded, so earnest. “I can be good.”

“I know you can.”

He brought your hands together and cuffed the other one. You rose up to your knees, your newly bound hands bracing yourself against his chest. He cradled your face and kissed you again. Each second that ticked by found the kiss more open and hungry and desperate. He missed kissing you-- _so much_. He missed it when you sucked on his bottom lip and then smiled up at him.

The fantasy fractured. The warm water of the shower rushed down his chest--warm like sunshine. He stroked his hard cock and rolled his balls in his other hand. He imagined turning you around and feeling you up. You’d be helpless to stop him. He would fondle your gorgeous tits and play with your nipples. In reply, you would rub your ass against his groin as he got you worked up.

You would moan, “Please fuck me, Daddy!”

His stomach swooped at the thought.

He would ignore your plea and push a hand into your bikini bottoms to find your slit wet. He’d tease your clit and slide his finger inside you. You’d be so hot and slick.

“Oh, so good, baby,” he’d whisper in your ear. “So wet for me.”

He’d bend you over and pull at the ties at your hips like he was unwrapping a present. The skin underneath your bikini bottoms would be paler. He’d give your ass a smack just to see your flesh jiggle. You’d groan and spread your knees a little more.

In the bright sunlight, he’d be able to see everything between your legs. He’d tease the vulnerable furl of your asshole with his thumb and then spread the lips of your cunt. He knew your little pussy would be flushed pink and dripping.

From below, you’d reach between your legs to hold yourself open for him. He wouldn’t even have to order you to do it. The handcuffs would clink together, too, punctuating how defenseless you were. He’d tell you what a good girl you were.

“Daddy, please,” you’d murmur against the beach towel and shimmy just a little.

That would be it for him. He wouldn’t be able to take anymore. He’d unzip the fly of his uniform trousers and get his throbbing cock out. He’d guide the head of it right to your opening and push in.

_“Ah, shit.”_

You’d be so tight and creamy around him. Your pussy would give a pulse of need as he got all the way in. You’d moan and arch your back, trying to get him that much deeper.

“You my good girl, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Fuck yeah, you are.”

He’d grind his pelvis against yours. He’d put one hand at the center of your back to keep you in place and the other at your hip to bring your bodies together. The grinding would become a rolling of his hips until he was pounding into you.

He leaned against the cool tile of his shower, pressing his temple against the wall. His orgasm was building too quickly. But he couldn’t stop tugging at his cock and twisting his wet fist around the sensitive head. He closed his eyes again to concentrate on what you felt like, the whimpers you made, the way your ass would bounce with each of his thrusts.

“Take it, babygirl, you’re so good,” he’d groan. “Gonna make me come, baby.”

It was too much. The flashes of fantasy burned through him. You’d beg him to come in you and fill your juicy little pussy up. You’d call him Daddy as he fucked you harder. Your pussy would be practically milking him as you clenched around him. The slap of flesh would overtake the buzzing of insects in the surrounding summertime trees. You’d cry out, forgetting the neighbors. You’d fist the towel under you; the metallic jingle of his handcuffs around your wrists somewhat muffled. Each thrust of his hips would be marked by the sloppy, lewd squelching of your climax. The crotch of his thick trousers would be soaked with it, too.

In a wave of sudden, heart-stopping pleasure, he came. He let his head fall back with a gasp as it rushed out of him in tight spurts. He bit out a _“fuck”_ as it kept going. He looked down at his red cock and squeezed the head of it, wringing every drop out of it. He wanted to feed it to you and watch you kiss his dick.

He missed you so bad.

He caught his breath and rinsed his hands off. He angled the spray of water to wash off the tile, just in case. He knew he had to see you. _Tomorrow. Later today. **Whatever.**_ He was going to go to your place and he was going to kiss you dizzy. He was going to get between your legs and suck on your sweet clit until you came. You two would make some food together, and catch up, and then he’d do it all over again--

Until neither of you could _walk_.


	11. L Is for Location

“Hey, uh, honey…”

You stared out the windshield of your husband’s truck and kept your hand exactly where it was.

It was sticky-humid and raining and dark. It had been that way all day. The quiet cab of the vehicle was equally dark until it passed under an orange streetlight. You watched the rain gush like mini rivers in the gutters on either side of the night-time streets.

“Baby, you gotta stop.”

“Why?” you asked as you continued to trail your fingers over his thigh. The long muscles under your palm were warm and firm. You traced the inseam of his jeans, knowing you were creeping close to his cock. Like you minded.

Actually, you liked the idea of touching it.

“I can’t concentrate to drive.”

You looked over at him and could just make out the high color in his cheeks. “Then don’t drive.”

He’d been so sweet all evening. He’d changed at work into a nice sport jacket and good jeans. He’d picked you up at home, escorting you down to the truck under a big umbrella. He’d taken you to a nice Italian restaurant and then to a funny movie. He’d held your hand and laughed with you through the comedy.

He’d kissed your cheek as everyone else had been shuffling out of the theater after the movie was over. You’d turned your head quick enough to catch his lips. He’d tasted like the Appleheads candy he’d been snacking on. You’d wanted to suck the tart flavor right off his tongue. Unfortunately, he’d pulled back before you could.

He’d been strangely reserved. You guessed it was something to do with a case. All the more reason for you to kiss him and touch him wherever he’d let you.

 _“What?”_ he asked.

“Pull over.”

He glanced over at you and then did it again. He turned off the empty main drag and into an upscale neighborhood you two would never be able to afford. There weren’t even streetlights. Instead, everyone had yard lights. You even noticed that one house had a gaslight by the driveway.

He parked the truck on the side of the street and turned off the engine. The rain steadily struck the roof, all tinny and lively. The windshield turned into a melting watercolor of mellow light.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to him on the bench-seat. At the click of the buckle, he met your gaze. His brown eyes glittered in the liquefied glow.

You were tempted to ask him what was wrong, why he was holding back, but you knew better. You knew it was probably something from work. While some cases got personal, he’d told you he never want to burden you with the grizzly details. Sometimes that pissed you off, because you didn’t need to be sheltered from the world.

But now was not the time to bring up that tired argument.

You got a knee on the seat and scooted closer. You felt the hem of your dress inch up your thigh. You caught his eyes darting down.

You whispered, “Undo your seatbelt.”

He didn’t spare a glance at it as he unlatched it. Before it made it across his lap, you darted forward and kissed him. You purred at how good it felt. You’d been wanting him all night. Something about the delicate way he’d been touching you or the easy conversation you’d had at dinner or the way he’d held the umbrella for you both. Maybe it was just a vibe you were picking up.

Flip put a hand at your nape and kissed you back. He teased your tongue. He sucked at your bottom lip. His soft mustache tickled you like it always did.

You broke the kiss just to rub your nose against his. “I want you.”

“Oh yeah?” he softly asked. “Why don’t you get on my lap and show me.”

You ducked your head and swung your leg over his hips to settle on his lap. His hands guided you and ended up cupping your ass as you sat down. You wiggled against him, feeling the bulge of his cock against your core. He rocked you against him, and the front of your skirt hitched up even more. You could feel through your cotton panties the unforgiving layer of his jeans.

He looked up at you with his full, wet lips parted. “You want to ride me?” He gave your ass a squeeze and pulled you tighter to him.

You whimpered at the drag of cotton against your pussy and nodded. You pushed your hands under his jacket and ran them up over his shoulders until you could fist his hair. You ducked down and kissed him again. And together, you two started grinding against each other.

Flip’s hands swept up your back, taking your skirt with them. While the night wasn’t cold, it wasn’t warm either. The wash of cooler air reminded you where you were, where he’d parked the truck. The thought of anyone seeing you two like this--your skirt flicked up with his big hands all over you--gave you a quivering thrill.

He broke the kiss and worked his way down your neck, moving you up as he went. He trailed kisses over your neck, occasionally using his teeth. You felt his hands back on your ass and then him fisting your panties.

In one forceful tug, he tore the fabric in two pieces.

You gasped in surprise and jerked in his lap. You almost knocked your head against the roof of the truck, but stopped yourself with a bracing hand. He murmured an apology against your throat and gave you a kiss.

“It’s okay, just touch me.”

He cupped the back of your inner thighs and pushed his fingers right between your legs to tease your pussy. His fingers slid easily between your slick folds, and he purred against your shoulder. You shimmied against him, trying to get him to finger you.

“So wet, honey. Love it when you’re like this.” He placed a kiss at the base of your throat. “Don’t think I can wait till we get home.”

You shook your head. “Me neither.” You reached between your bodies to unbutton his jeans. You wanted to touch him, get his cock out and slide down on it.

You began tugging the zipper down when he adjusted his position and maneuvered you both across the truck’s cool bench-seat. He hovered over you on hands and knees, his dark hair framing his blushing face. You pulled him down for a kiss by the collar of his henley. He lowered himself onto his elbows and pressed himself against you as he kissed you deeply.

You slid your hands down his sides until you hit the waistband of his jeans. You followed it around to the front of him and resumed getting his pants open. You could feel the heat of his erection against your hands and you palmed him through his briefs.

He moaned against your lips and sagged, tucking his face in the crook of your neck. His weight pressed you into the seat, but it hardly deterred you. His dick throbbed in your hands, spurring you on, and you teased his balls just how you knew he liked.

“You’re gonna make me come,” he warned, his voice muffled. _“God_ , baby, you’re so hot.”

You whispered, “I’ve been wanting you all night.”

“Me too. I wanted to get you home, but--”

You cut him off by fishing his heavy dick out of his underwear. The head of it was slippery with precome, and you smeared it around with your thumb. Above you, he shuddered and rolled his hips to push his cock into your hands.

After a moment of thrusting into your hands, he hunched his back and reached between your legs. He shoved your skirt out of the way and hooked a finger in the torn slit of your panties. He met your eyes and ripped the cotton the rest of the way up.

He gave you a devious smile as you whimpered and spread your legs more. He ran his fingers up and down your dripping slit. He stroked your clit, winding you up until you were writhing against the seat and fisting his shirt.

“Get in me,” you begged as you pulled at him. “Fuck me. Make me come.”

He nodded and groaned out, _“Fuck_ , okay.”

You felt the spongy head of his cock run up and down your slit. You bit your lip as you tilted your pelvis to catch him and get him inside you. He pushed forward and slid home in one smooth thrust.

You slumped as his thick cock shoved the air out of your lungs. Even after the few years you’d been married and having sex, he was still a lot to take in. He caged you in with his arms and kissed your cheek and jaw and the thudding pulse point on your neck.

You forced your hands under his clothes, got two handfuls of his bare ass, and pulled him tighter to you. His cock went deeper, filling you up the way you needed. He groaned, and you felt his muscles flex under your hands as he braced himself.

He got an arm under your back and gripped your shoulder. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you breathed out and nodded.

He leaned down and kissed you quick. He steadied himself with his free hand against the door above your head and began this rolling grind that had your mouth falling open. It felt so right. He kept going, his body pressing right up where you wanted.

You groaned out you were going to come, and he sped up in reply. You felt your whole body start to lock up. You buried your face in his shoulder and breathed deep the lingering scent of his aftershave and sweat.

Your climax flowed through you like the rain cascading outside. It was a surge that washed away your strength. You found yourself staring up at the cab’s ceiling and trying to catch your breath. But you couldn’t. The pleasure kept rolling through you as Flip fucked you through it.

He didn’t stop, even as you twisted in his tight hold. He growled out your name and cranked his hips harder against yours. It was too intense, too much. You clawed up his back, crying out.

And you came again. You felt the wet cotton of your ruined panties stick between your legs. Everything felt more: his beard rasped against your neck, his hand on your shoulder was warmer than before, his cock felt huge as it pumped in your wet, pulsing cunt.

His panting was loud in your ear. “I love you,” he demanded. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I--I love you, too.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “You’re so good to me.”

A groan came from deep in his chest. “Shit, I’m gonna come.”

“Come in me, please!”

He rammed into you over and over, forcing his dick in as deep as it would go. Each thrust made you whine in overstimulation, but it was still good. God, he was so good. When he came, he slumped over you with his mouth against your neck.

He breathed heavily against your skin, sporadically kissing what he could easily reach. The hand on your shoulder moved to hold the back of your neck. He inched up and kissed your lips. It was sleepy and easy.

It was tempting to close your eyes and rest, but the bench-seat of the Chevy wasn’t exactly the most comfortable place to take a nap. Flip seemed to come to the same conclusion right as you did.

“Fuck, now I have to drive home,” he grumbled.

“This wasn’t a very good idea.”

He hummed with a lazy grin. “I wouldn’t say that.”


	12. M Is for Motivation

You heard the line click as Flip answered his desk phone.

“Zimmerman,” he said.

You put as much husk in your voice as you could. “Hey, Flip.”

There was a creak of his desk chair. “Hey, there.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

It was a generic greeting, though. He didn’t say your name, and it soured your mood. You figured he probably greeted all the women he had sex with like that.

Because you didn’t think you were the only woman he was seeing. You had no evidence, of course. He was too smart for that. But with the way he was, how sexy he was, the way he swaggered around sometimes, you had to assume he was having sex with other women.

You identified yourself--just in case.

“Oh, baby, I know. What other lady would be calling me at work?”

You bit your bottom lip. Had you overstepped? He had given you his work number after the second date. And you had been dating him for over two months now. You didn’t think it was unusual or wrong to check in. And it had been five long days since you’d last seen him.

“I can call you later--if it’s a bad time,” you offered.

“You can call me whenever you like.”

“I don’t want to bug you. I’m sure your other girls are calling you.”

_“What?”_

“What?”

He asked, “Other girls?”

This had been a dumb idea, you thought. You adjusted the black diaphanous kimono-style robe over your chest. You shouldn’t have called and brought up whoever else he was dating. You knew that was bad form. You’d just put on your new lingerie and wanted to call him, is all. Maybe invite him over. Show him how into him you were. That’s all.

“You know--” You cut yourself off and began again, “I mean, I know we haven’t talked about being exclusive. I just figured…” You ended with a shrug.

“There’re no other girls.”

“Oh.”

Heat bloomed in your chest and cheeks--part pleasure, part embarrassment. It felt good to be his only. Though for how long with the way you were acting, was up for debate.

His voice was tight. “Are you seeing other men?”

“What, no!”

Like you had time for dating multiple men. Like men were tripping over each other to get to you. Between working and your hobbies and, you know, being an adult, your plate was full. Dating Flip actually, in some ways, got in the way. However, you thought he was worth it.

“Good. We’ll have to talk about exclusivity later.” He sighed and led the conversation back around. _“But first…”_

“I just wanted to see how you were.”

“I’m better now that I’m talking to you.”

You smiled. “Are you busy?”

“Nah, I’m wasting time until my shift’s over. Everyone’s gone home for the day.”

You relaxed back on the bed and fluffed your hair on the pillow behind your head. “Would you like to come over after you’re done?”

“I would.”

“I went shopping a few days ago. I got a little something special.”

His chair creaked again. “Why don’t you tell me about it.”

“It’s silk and lace. It’s real pretty.”

You spread the robe open over your chest. You played with the black lace edging of your new teddy. It had a little elastic waistband to give the blousy garment some shape and spaghetti straps. The body of it was a red and black paisley floral silk. It was lovely. When you’d seen it in the lingerie section, you knew Flip would like it, too.

“Are you wearing it right now?” he asked, his voice practically purring over the line.

“Yeah, it’s so soft. There’re these little ties in front keeping it together.”

“I bet they’re straining right now against those beautiful tits of yours.”

“It feels so good against my nipples.”

You propped the phone between your shoulder and ear to free your hands. You circled your nipples, teasing them to tight points. The silk really did feel nice. The soft rasp of lace against your chest only added to the decadent feel of the teddy.

“Give ‘em a little pinch for me.”

You did as he asked, pinching a nipple through the thin silk. You whimpered and wiggled against the bed. The sharp pleasure tingled all the way down your body. You felt your pussy clench on nothing.

“Shit,” he growled. “Do it again.”

You went for your other nipple to give it the same treatment. You whined his name, wishing he was with you, touching you. You wanted his hands on you, his lips kissing you, his dick pushing its way inside you.

You breathed, “When do you get off?”

“Now.” There was a clatter. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”


	13. N Is for No

“You heard of this swinging shit?” Jimmy asked as they walked to the courtyard for a smoke break.

Mainly, it was an excuse to get away from the bullpen. His desk phone had actually quieted down for ten minutes. He used the respite to justify slipping away for a few. He needed a break from listening to the other guys talk, anyway. Only Jimmy and Ron weren’t irritating him today. And Ron was busy. So, he’d invited Jimmy with him.

He popped a cigarette between his lips. “Swinging?”

“Yeah, people trading their partners.”

“That sounds like wife swapping. I’ve heard of that, but not swinging.”

Jimmy pushed open the back door. “Nonono, that’s the same thing.”

It was a nice day for once--not too hot. The courtyard was shaded by this time of the afternoon. Shit, he was so sick of summer, he thought, so sick of sweating his balls off. Give him late fall any day.

“Isn’t that just for married folks?” he asked and settled on the closest concrete bench.

“Apparently not. It’s a type of open relationship.”

He lit his cigarette. “Where you hear this crap?”

“Read it in _Playboy_.”

“Jesus Christ. It’s a fucking fantasy.”

“Nah, man, there’re actual clubs for it.”

“Like sex clubs?”

“Yeah!”

_“Jesus fucking Christ.”_

Jimmy told him about the article. How the couples in it were trying something new. It added spice to a relationship, according to them. Well, he thought, so did laying your woman right. Sometimes an old-fashion dicking was what a lady needed.

“I bet one’ll open here,” Jimmy concluded.

“Colorado Springs getting a sex club?” He shook his head and ashed his spent cigarette. “Unlikely.” He flicked the butt into the cigarette urn by the door and fist-pumped when it went in.

Jimmy was hardly thwarted by his doubt. “Could you imagine the calls we’d get because of it?”

He put on a hoity-toity voice: “Officer, there’s too much limp cock in this club!”

“False advertising!” Jimmy crowed and then pointed at him. “Not enough tits!”

He barked out a laugh before asking: “Speaking of: who was the centerfold?”

Jimmy held out his hands as if he were cupping the centerfold’s breasts. “Perfect pair, man. Azizi _Something_. Black chick. Fucking gorgeous.”

He hummed and tried to imagine the perfect pair of breasts. All he could think of were yours. He lit another cigarette just as the front-desk officer came to get Jimmy for a phone call. He wished Jimmy good luck and went back to enjoying his break.

Once alone, he lay back on the bench. He came to the conclusion that perfect breasts were ones he could feel. Looking was nice and all, but ones he could kiss were the best. And he definitely liked getting his mouth all over yours. He’d like to do that right now, actually.

He scowled up at the blue sky as he realized a lot of guys probably felt the same way from just looking at you. The thought of some asshole getting their hands on you pissed him off. Now, he’d never considered himself the possessive kind. And he certainly didn’t own you. But you were his woman. He didn’t care who came before him. All he was concerned about was the present with you.

Which, now that he thought about it, was date-free.

He finished his cigarette and sat up, remembering he had this Saturday off. After chucking the butt into the urn, he stood and wiped his hands on the thighs of his jeans.

He had a call to make and a few hot promises to guarantee.


	14. O Is for Oral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (belated) International Women’s Day! 😉

You sat at your vanity, taking off your jewelry for the night. Your feet were aching a little from the new knee-high boots you were attempting to break in. The leather had hardly relaxed over the course of the evening, but it was fine. They’d conform to your feet soon enough.

There was a knock on your apartment door just as you were unzipping the second boot. You didn’t know who it could be at this time of night. Flip had dropped you off with a _nice_ kiss after your date and left to get some sleep. He’d told you he had to be up early the next day. He said he had to continue helping a rookie with a new case.

You kicked off the second boot and hurried to the door. With a look through the peephole, you frowned. Flip was out in the hall. You scanned your dark living room to see if he’d left anything. But that didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t come in when he’d dropped you off.

You opened the door, pleased to see him regardless. “Hi?”

“Hey, can I come in?”

You stepped back. “Sure. What’s up?”

He walked in with his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. He looked tense to you, like his shoulder were trying to inch up to his ears.

You closed the door and waited for him to speak. The silence dragged out for too long, though. It made you nervous. You wondered what he was doing here.

“Flip?”

He relaxed his shoulders and licked his lips. “I got a feeling I’m gonna be 57’d for a while,” he began. “And I don’t want you to think… Look, I really like you.”

You shook your head, not knowing what “57” meant. “I like you, too. What’s going on?”

He held out a hand to you. “There’s shit going down. It started a couple nights ago. I had to go to this redneck bar—” He sighed. “I don’t want to put you at risk.”

You stepped closer and took his hand. It was cold. “It’s the rookie’s case?”

“Yeah, it’s… Fucking stupid. Dangerous.”

“But you have to be involved?”

He gave your hand a squeeze. “I’m gonna have to go silent on you for awhile.”

“I understand. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s _not_ fucking okay.”

He pulled you and stepped closer at the same time. He wrapped his other arm around your back. His dark eyes glittered in the dimness. You ran a hand up his chest to his neck. You urged him down to kiss you. And he did, with everything he had. It felt like he wanted to devour you. His tongue teased you, his full lips pressed hard and passionate against yours. His hands traveled down your back to grip your ass.

You clung to him, kissing him back and pushing his sport jacket off his shoulders.

He whispered against your lips, “I wanna give you something to remember me by.”

You pulled back to study his face: his brown eyes, his angular nose, his sharp cheekbones. “How could I forget you, Phillip Zimmerman?”

He looked down. “Maybe it’s more for me.”

“What is it?”

“I… I wanna eat you out.” He pulled your hips tight to his, his eyes burning into yours. You could feel the firmness of his cock. “I’ve been thinking about it all night. But I didn’t…” He shook his head. “I want to taste you. I want you to come on my tongue.”

You’d been with a few guys who did it perfunctorily to get you to reciprocate or to make you wetter for sex. It wasn’t done out of sheer enjoyment of the act. And while you did like it, you didn’t feel much for cunnilingus either way.

You shrugged and backed off a little. “I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to, but I just want to do this for you.”

_“Flip…”_

“Let me do it.”

You studied his lips as you considered his proposition. You’ve thought about them before: how plush they were, how good they felt. You liked kissing him. You liked his tongue sliding against yours. You wondered now how his mouth would feel between your legs, if his mustache would tickle. Would he be good? Could he make you come?

His face was a mask of uncertainty and determination. You became hyperaware of the thick seam of your jeans between you legs. The weight of his hands on your rear kept you in place.

You asked yourself if you wanted him to do it. The gut answer was a resounding _yes_.

You nodded without giving it more thought. Fuck it. You hadn’t had sex in a while. You had shaved your legs that afternoon. You wanted him—had been wanting him since the first date.

A smile unfolded on Flip’s face. He dove back in to kiss you. You met him halfway and pressed yourself against him. His hands swept up your back. You couldn’t stop the wiggle at his caress. You wanted to rub your whole body against him.

“I promise, I’ll make you feel good, baby,” he whispered against your lips.

“You already do.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, going crosseyed to look at him.

“Well, I’ll make you feel better.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Detective.”

He smirked as he moved back to find the button of your jeans under your thin sweater. “The first step in a successful operation is following proper protocol.”

“Of course,” you replied and let your arms fall to your sides.

Flip lowered himself to his knees and unbuttoned your jeans. “The second is systematic investigation.”

He undid the zipper and leaned in to kiss your lower belly. His big hands held your hips still as he nudged the fly open to follow the waistband of your hip-hugging panties. Each kiss had you gasping. Each inch of skin he kissed burned in his wake. You steadied yourself by holding onto his biceps.

He peeled your jeans down to reveal your panties. They weren’t anything special, just plain lavender cotton. He didn’t seem to mind their ordinariness as he pushed his face against your body. His chin rested above where your bush started, and his nose pressed into your belly.

You ran your fingers through his thick hair as he went back to kissing your skin. His hands—now hotter than before—cupped your ass as he mouthed his way to your hip. He eased your panties down until they just covered your bush.

He sat back on his heels and tugged your panties down until they met the drooping denim of your pants.

He stared at your body for a handful of seconds. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

You laughed, and he smiled up at you before burying his nose in your pubic hair. He groaned and kissed the crease where your torso met leg. Your cunt clenched on nothing, and you could feel you were getting wetter by the second. You wanted to beg him to finger you, to fuck you—anything—just get inside you.

“What’s the third step?” you panted.

“Reconnaissance.”

He got to his feet with his hands on your hips. He kissed you again and walked you backwards to the couch. You made a questioning noise, because your bed would be better. You didn’t want to stain the upholstery.

He broke the kiss. “Couch is fine. Trust me.”

“Okay.”

Flip sat you down at one end of the couch, maneuvered your upper torso into the corner, and relaxed you against the arm. He hovered over you to kiss you. His strong arms caged you in while he balanced himself on a knee between your thighs. You gripped his jacket and arched up to him, your tongue tracing his. He softly groaned and pulled back to slide down your body. Once on his knees, he pushed your sweater up just enough to kiss your stomach. His hands held your sides, massaging your flesh.

You couldn’t stop touching him. You dragged your hands over his back and into his hair as he left open-mouthed kisses down your belly. You wanted to spread your legs for him and get him to where you were warmer and wet.

He wiggled your jeans and panties down to the tops of your knee-high trouser socks. He caressed your thighs and shuffled back to get you stripped from the waist down. You thought he would roll your socks down and off then, but he didn’t.

He grinned at you as his big hands held your calves. “I like these.”

“I’ve got a whole drawer full of ‘em,” you cheekily replied.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

You snorted. “Is that part of your reconnaissance, Detective?”

“No, but this is.” With that he hooked his hands behind your knees and brought them up and out.

You gasped and clutched at the couch. The cooler air spilled between your thighs. You could feel the sticky flood of your arousal. Flip was sure to see it—even in the half-light coming from the hallway to your left.

“Hold this leg, baby,” he crooned.

You held the back of your thigh, and he gently followed the wet folds of your pussy with his fingers. You quivered at his touch. He spread you a little and bit his bottom lip. You cunt pulsated, and you whined for contact. You wanted him to do something: finger you, lick you, rub your clit.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he said again.

You opened your mouth to beg him for relief when he bent forward, licking a broad stripe up your slit. You let your head fall back with a moan. He apparently took that as encouragement enough because he did it again.

He began by swirling his tongue in your folds, groaning as he did. He found your clit and cupped it with his tongue. You couldn’t tell if he stroked it or sucked it or both. It felt too good to analyze.

He was relentless. Even as you squirmed against his mouth and in his hold. It drove him on until you were crying his name. The pleasure swelled, and your whole body suddenly locked up. You gritted your teeth and keened until that growing tension rolled away like the surge of the sea. Your pussy thrummed and your heart pounded, eclipsing everything else. You felt your orgasm flow through you and drain you. It left you only with breathless, throbbing ecstasy.

And then he pushed a thick finger inside you.

“Flip!” you gasped, open-mouthed. You didn’t know if you could take anymore.

“Just one more, babygirl. For me.”

You gnawed at your bottom lip as he eased his finger in and out of you. You closed your eyes and shuddered at how good it felt. He pushed two in deep and crooked his fingers. You felt a flush of new heat radiate from your middle, and you nodded.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered and sank into it.

You felt his tongue on you again. He slowly lapped at your clit, seemingly content to draw it out. He pressed the pads of his fingers against the walls of your pussy. Involuntarily, you made this needy guttural sound you’d never heard from yourself before. You wanted to ask what he was doing to you. While it felt good, it was different.

There was a new kind of tension now. It wasn’t like your first climax. This was hot and urgent and taut like a fist clenching. You writhed on the couch and mewled for something. You didn’t know whether you wanted more or for him to stop.

Flip sheathed your clit with his mouth, his lush wet lips feeling incredible, and did something that had you crying out. You fought the iron hold he had on the back of your thigh. You cursed and shook your head, covering your mouth with a hand. It felt like a primal scream was building up in your chest.

The heat overtook your body. Your hair stuck to your neck. Your thin sweater uncomfortably clung to you. The textured fabric of the couch scuffed against your ass.

Everything stilled for a second before you were engulfed. You were burned alive, right there in your living room by Flip Zimmerman. He held you down, controlled your twisting body. The blaze inside ate away at you in pulsating flare-ups until you felt like nothing but a smoldering residue for yourself.

What had he done to you?

You heard him sweetly shushing you. There were arms around you, and a firm body pressing you down into the couch. It was a solace to be surrounded by him. You let go of your leg and grasped at him.

When you looked up at him, you found him grinning. His lips were glossy in the subdued light, and his cheeks were pink. He smelled like you.

He met your gaze. “You okay?”

In silent reply, you pulled him down for a searing kiss. You were more than okay. You felt like a living, cherished flame.


	15. P Is for Pace

“What’s that on your neck, Zimmerman?” Myers jeered.

They met the middle of the bullpen. If the full coffee cup in Myers’ hand was any indication, he was coming from the kitchen. Flip had just checked in and was eager to sit down. Around them, the other detectives watched their exchange with different levels of amusement.

Flip slapped the side of his neck, feigning surprise. “Is it a bug?”

He knew exactly what was on his neck.

Myers leaned closer, almost tipping his coffee over Flip’s sweatshirt. “Nah, man, it’s a love-bite! You finally trick some girl into bed?”

“Yeah, your wife.” He smirked.

Myers threw his head back with a bark of genuine laughter, called him an asshole, and thumped him on arm. There was a round of good-natured booing and laughter as Flip walked through the bullpen. He high-fived Ron before settling at his desk.

He gingerly leaned into his chair. The scratches down his back were tender. Not to mention the claw-marks on his chest from when you’d ridden him. He was stiff as hell, too. On top of that, he’d barely gotten two hours of sleep.

Not that he was complaining.

You had asked for it rough and had given it back. You’d been a hellcat. He had bruised teeth-marks on his shoulder and a hickey high on his neck. He’d probably lost some hair from where you’d been pulling it. But again, he wasn’t complaining.

He’d come four times last night. He didn’t know how he’d done it. He hadn’t gotten off that much in one session since high school.

And you had gushed and squirted all over him and the bed. What a messy girl you’d been. He loved it. He’d stripped the bed before collapsing next to you in exhaustion. The two of you had slept between the afghan from the couch and the comforter. That is, until the alarm had gone off. He had creaked out of bed like an old man while you’d stretched like a kitten.

You were probably still sleeping the night off.

He had forced you to come over and over. He’d used his fingers, his mouth, his cock. He had held you down as you writhed. You’d moaned when he’d gripped the back of your neck to keep your face pressed to the mattress. He’d covered your mouth with his hand when you’d gotten too loud. There would be bruises on your hips and hickeys on your tits, he was sure.

He’d fucked you harder and faster than he’d ever fucked anyone. It wasn’t his typical scene, either. He liked being sweet with you. He liked taking his time. He liked the build-up, the slow grind of desire. He liked kissing you deeply and holding you close. But you had wanted it rough. And he’d been frustrated with… Well, a lot of things.

His frustration hadn’t disappeared, exactly, but he felt better: looser, calmer, clear-headed.

All because of you.


	16. Q Is for Quickie

There was a wall of heat against your naked back. Something soft and wet was pressed over and over to your neck. But hands, you recognized. There were hands on you. An arm was going under and around your ribs with one hand cupping your breast. The other hand was between your legs, teasing your slit.

You were still wet from the previous night, but that hand— _those fingers_ —were getting you wetter.

You whined and writhed. You didn’t know what to do, but panic was the furthest thing from your mind. You knew who it was, and you didn’t want him to stop. Your limbs were still too heavy to do much of anything, anyway.

The first touch to your tender clit had your eyes popping open to your dim bedroom. _“Flip!”_ you breathed, fully awake now.

He hummed in confirmation and gently shushed you. He circled your clit, occasionally dipping into your pussy to wet his fingers and tease you both. Each time he did it, you drew in a sharp breath. It felt so good. You were aching to be filled again.

You rolled your hips, and his hot erection rode the cleft of your ass. “Please, Flip!”

“Can’t stay long,” he whispered.

“It’s okay, just get in me.”

He kissed behind your ear and fumbled between your bodies. He smeared precome over your skin as he positioned himself. You felt the silky head of his cock push into your slit. His big knuckles at the base pressed between your legs.

You arched your back, trying to catch him at the right angle. He rocked against you, and that felt good too, but you wanted all of him. You whimpered and braced yourself against the bed.

You unknowingly lined up just right, and his dick eased inside you. It felt huge and so hot. He put a hand on your hip and drew you back until you were stuffed full of him.

Flip groaned, and your breath caught at the feeling. He hugged you from behind, nuzzling at your neck. The hand at your breast stroked your skin, tracing the curve of it, while the other trailed up and down your side.

“Wanna take my time, but…”

“Tonight?” you offered.

“You want me to come back?”

“I want you to never leave.”

He growled, “I’ll give you something for safe keeping.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned and glanced over your shoulder. “Well, officer, what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t bother to reply. He tightened his hold on you, the hand on your hip pulling you back. You put your hand on his forearm and steadied yourself against the mattress.

It started slow—just a rolling of his hips. His cock didn’t move much, but it was deep. Then his grip on your hip tensed. You distantly realized if he kept on like that, you’d have bruises. Definitely something for safe keeping.

He buried his nose in your messy hair and groaned as he began to really move. Your ass bounced off his pelvis with every strong thrust. You tried to hold still to get as much of him as you could and whined through gritted teeth when you couldn’t.

Flip suddenly rolled you onto your stomach and the blankets went with you. His cock slipped out of you, and you gasped at the empty feeling. He followed you, pushed down the sheets until you were exposed to the cooler ambient air, and straddled your hips. His weight pressed you down into the mattress. You stretched out under him and arched your lower back. He kissed between your shoulder blades in reply and pushed his dick back in you in one smooth thrust.

You moaned against the bed, quivering in need. You clenched your thighs together, but it wasn’t enough. You needed him so badly.

He sat there for a second, his forehead resting against your hair. “When I get back here tonight, this sweet pussy better ready for me.”

“Yes!” you agreed and reached over your shoulder to caress his handsome face.

“You better be ready to present it, baby.” He kissed the palm of your hand.

“I will. I promise.”

He purred before wrapping his big hands around the tops of your hipbones. He settled in, lazily rocking his pelvis—grinding his cock hot and thick inside you. You pushed back against him to egg him on. Within two pumps, he was using his full weight to fuck you. The head of his cock was stroking the front wall of your cunt. You were getting wetter with each thrust. You heard the obscene, rhythmic squelch of it.

You tried to squeeze around him, to get something more, but you couldn’t. He was too much. You could feel you were right at the cusp of something—something akin to climax. He groaned into your neck, cursing.

Flip forced you into the bed and fucked you faster. The bed started squeaking, metallic and sharp. You propped yourself on your elbows and took more of your weight on your knees. It didn’t stop the sound, but you hardly cared. Your nipples dragged against the sheets, and the new angle had you crying out.

“That’s right, baby, take it all,” Flip roughly panted. “Such a good girl.”

He jackhammered his cock deep, and you felt your body locking up. You were so close, but you could tell he was closer. It didn’t matter. You wanted him to come, wanted him to fill you up.

He tugged your hips back, so you were meeting him right in the middle of each hard thrust. He seized abruptly, moaning _“fuck,”_ and you felt his cock swell. And then he came. Each pump of his hips was punctuated by a gush of come. You felt every spurt hit your cervix.

You relaxed onto the bed and tried to catch your breath. You felt so full of his dick, so wet with his come—claimed on some deep, primal level.

Flip loosened his hold and sagged onto his elbows above you, his cock gently slipping out as he moved. He kissed your shoulder and the side of your neck. He pushed his nose under your jaw and mouthed at your galloping pulse. You felt the ghost of his hands on your hips and his come ooze out of you all syrupy. You smelled the fresh sweat and sleep on him. The ends of his hair tickled your skin.

He hummed, “I think you deserve a reward.”

“Flip, it's—”

He pushed his warm hand between you and the mattress. With unerring knowledge of your body, he cupped your mound and slid two fingers into your dripping slit. He pressed against your clit, and your cunt pulsed in need. You choked on whatever you were going to say, and he preemptively hushed you.

He stoked your sensitive clit, quickly finding a tempo that had you squirming and gasping. He controlled your movements by pressing his hips and chest to your back. You were utterly trapped, surrounded by him, as he drove you to orgasm.

You reached down and grasped his thighs to anchor yourself as every movement of his fingers had you forgetting responsibilities and the morning alarm and how you were going to make it through your shift without losing yourself in the memory of this.

The warmth of oncoming climax flooded up your spine. Your thighs clenched around his hand. You pressed your pointed toes to the bed and humped his fingers.

“That’s it,” he softly encouraged as he stroked your clit faster. His thick fingers pressed on either side of it.

A breathless noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan stuttered out of your mouth. It hit you then, all heat and pulsating pleasure. The room disappeared, and you couldn’t hear yourself any longer. You sagged against the bed as he continued to touch you. Every stroke of his fingers earned you another throb of orgasm. It went on and on until you mewled in oversensitivity.

He relented, then. He smoothed his hands up your sides as he kissed your temple. You smiled and leaned into it before he rolled to the side. You met his dark, sleepy eyes and turned to face him. You reached out to pet the whiskers on his chin.

He grinned with his cheeks all flushed and his eyes gleaming with affection. “Mornin’.”


	17. R Is for Risk

A sharp rap on the door roused you from your dozing sprawl on the sofa. Flip had told you not to wait up, but… He was undercover. It was supposed to be the last night for this case. The team had gotten enough to plan the raid. Flip said he didn’t expect it to get violent, but… Drug dealers weren’t known to be soft and cuddly.

You grabbed the baseball bat and checked the peephole. It was Ron. And Flip. Or rather Ron’s face and the top of Flip’s head. You sighed in relief and unlocked the door.

You could smell the earthy funk of pot coming from them. Ron didn’t look fazed at all while Flip seemed fascinated by the linoleum floor in the hallway.

“Hi,” Ron murmured to you and shook Flip. “You’re home, Reefer Madness.”

Before you could step back to let them in, Flip looked at you with bloodshot eyes. He smiled, dopey. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, there.” You grinned and said to Ron, “I got him.”

“You sure do,” Flip insisted and held up his bare left hand. “We’re married.”

He must’ve toked away the memory of leaving his wedding ring on the dresser this morning. You were tickled to see he hadn’t forgotten you were his wife, though.

“We certainly are,” you agreed with a smile and opened the door in invitation.

Flip casually shuffled around you. Ron stayed out in the hall, telling you everything went pretty much according to plan. You watched Flip tuck his hair behind his ears—something he _never_ did when sober. Or in front of anyone else. He’d confessed to you he was self-conscious about his ears. You found them adorable and took every opportunity to kiss them.

“Chief gave him the rest of the week off,” Ron reported and then leaned in. “He did well, and no one was hurt.”

You sighed again in relief. “I’m glad to hear it. Thank you for getting him home.”

“It’s not a problem.” Ron thumbed down the hallway. “I should go. There’s a report to write tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, of course. Congratulations. Get some rest.”

Ron wished you both a good night, and you returned it. Flip continued to stare at the infomercial playing on television. As you closed and locked the door, he turned it off.

“I missed you today,” Flip stated.

You leaned the bat against the wall by the door. “I missed you, too.”

“Earlier, I thought I should’ve woken you up and fucked you one last time.”

“I wish you would’ve.”

The way he said “one last time” twisted something inside. It was true, being a cop came with certain risks. But Flip worked in Intelligence, which kept him out of the line of fire most times.

He nodded to himself. “I will next time.”

“Good.”

He swaggered over to you, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. You held your ground and attempted to keep a straight face. You couldn’t believe he’d gotten high while working a case. Though you knew he’d probably done it to keep his cover.

Flip put his hands on your waist. “I wanna fuck you outside. Like, against a tree. _The Great Outdoors_.”

You weren’t against the idea. “Oh? You’ve become a nature lover overnight?”

He ignored your quip. “I’ve never done that.”

“Neither have I.”

He looked wistful for a second. You could see him getting derailed. “You’re so pretty.”

“And you’re so handsome.”

That dopey look was back. “I love you, you know. A lot.”

You smoothed your hands up his solid arms and shoulders. “I love you, too.” You hooked your hands behind his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. He tasted like pot, but it didn’t matter when his plush lips were against yours. He was a little sloppy, but made up for it with enthusiasm and warmth.

You felt yourself melt against him despite your earlier worry. It was so good to have him home safe—even in an inebriated state.

He made a contented sound from deep in his chest and broke the kiss. He rubbed his nose against yours. You couldn’t help but grin. He was like an affectionate cat.

“I need some Zep and a turkey sandwich,” he softly said and gave your waist a squeeze.

You loosened your hold. “Well, put them on, Detective Zimmerman, and I’ll make you a turkey sandwich.”

He straightened, but let his hands linger at your sides. He licked his lips and beamed. In the warm light from the lamp in the corner, his flushed cheeks were even more obvious. His eyes twinkled like you were sure they had when he was a boy.

His voice was husky as he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Zimmerman.”

“You want tomato and mayo?”

“Hell yeah, I do.”

He tugged you against him and bent to kiss you. His hands went to your ass, grasping the undersides with his big hands. He was more thoughtful this time, and his kiss left you breathless and weak-kneed. You clung to him and pushed your fingers into his thick hair.

He pulled back. “We’ll go to Cheyenne Canon tomorrow—find a decent spot.” He hummed to himself. “I’m gonna fuck you so good. Gonna fill your pretty pussy with my come.”

“We’ll scare the wildlife,” you teased.

“Fuck ‘em. I’ll love my wife wherever I want.”

You gave him another kiss. This time brief. “But first, I need to feed _my husband.”_

He agreed with a _uh-huh_ and let you go. As you turned for the kitchen, he gave your ass a playful smack. You snapped your teeth at him over your shoulder. You heard him chuckle as you strutted away.

It was quiet for a few minutes before the deep thump of “When the Levee Breaks” started in the living room. You swayed to the rhythm as you retrieved a cutting board to slice a fresh tomato on.


	18. S Is for Stamina

He had fallen asleep on you last night. Not literally, but damn close. And he felt like shit because of it. You acted like you understood, and maybe you did, but you’d kept your distance this morning.

You weren’t boring at all. He wasn’t bored—with you or having sex with you or the marriage. He was just so fucking exhausted. Between the long stake-outs, interviews with eyewitnesses and victims, and typing up the findings for the local Smaldone case, he didn’t know if he was coming or going.

Well, he thought, he was definitely _not_ coming.

He heaved his ass off the couch and walked to the open back door. It was mid-spring, and you were out planting the beginnings of a herb garden around the now-shady patio. You’d bought a few hostas to plant at the corner of the house, too. It was going to look nice.

He admired you for a moment. You’d tied a triangle scarf over your hair to keep fly-aways away from your face. Your serene, beautiful face.

He knew he could retreat to the living room, but he missed you. He pushed open the screen door and walked down onto the patio. The concrete was already cool under his bare feet, as if the stone had already forgotten the sun.

You looked up at his intrusion, yet gave him a dazzling smile. “Hey.”

“Hi, baby.”

He took a seat on the glider bench which faced out onto the yard and the wilds beyond. After glancing at the heavy outdoor ashtray on the side-table, he realized he’d forgotten his cigarettes. Just as well. He didn’t need the distraction. You didn’t like him smoking, anyway.

You continued to plant the last of the—he had to guess here—basil. He stretched an arm over the back of the bench and breathed deep the fresh air. If the bench was a little longer, he silently mused, he’d want to lie down and take a nap.

After about ten minutes of smoothing the dark soil around the newly planted seedlings, you sat back and wiped your forehead with the back of your wrist. You knocked all the dirt from your gloves and took them off. There was a smudge of something on your cheekbone.

He held out a hand to you. “Hey, sweetheart, you have a little…” He wiggled his fingers at your cheek.

You shrugged and tried to find it as you came to him. He sat up as you bent down, and he steadied your face as he wiped whatever it was from your cheek. It flaked off easily enough.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he murmured as he let his hands drop to his lap.

“Don’t be. I understand, okay? You’re under a lot of pressure.”

He sighed though his nose. “I shouldn’t’ve started when I knew I couldn't—” He shook his head.

You breezily said, “There’s always tonight?”

You sat down next to him, and he relaxed back, swinging an arm behind your shoulders.

“We could pick up where we left off,” he offered.

“Hm, I think we need to work up to that, honey.”

He leaned in closer as he studied in your impish smile. “Like maybe starting on the couch. Maybe I can kiss your pretty mouth. I’d like to work my way down. Taste all of you.”

“You _are_ very thorough.”

“I like to be very thorough with you.”

“So, how far down will you be going?”

“All the way, if you let me.”

You bit your bottom lip and angled towards him. “I think I just might.”

“How about I use my hands, too? I can touch you all over.” He rested a hand right above your knee. “Spread your legs real slow. Trace my fingers up your thigh.”

“And then?”

“I’d settle right between them and get my mouth on your sweet tits. Would you let me grind against you? Would you move with me, baby?”

You nodded. “Uh huh.”

“I love how hot and wet your pussy gets. I can feel it right through your clothes.” He leisurely followed the inseam of your work jeans up, but stopped an inch from the juncture of your thighs. He ducked his head to kiss your jaw right by your ear. Your skin was so soft, and he tasted the clean salt of your sweat.

He heard you sigh.

“And you’re even hotter inside,” he whispered. “Can’t get enough of you, you know.”

You tilted his head up and kissed him, drawn-out and gentle. Before you, no one had ever kissed him like that. It was like you savored him, and it made him feel treasured. He would probably never get used to it, but he would always appreciate it—appreciate you.

You pulled back and smiled at him. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Wanna go inside?”

You bit your bottom lip again. “I need to water these guys first.” You nodded towards the seedlings.

“You do that, and I’ll pour us some lemonade.”

“I’d like ice.”

He purred and gave your thigh a squeeze as he thought of trailing the remnants of an ice cube down your gorgeous body. “Me too.”

“Mr. Zimmerman!” you said in mock outrage. “Don’t make me turn the hose on you.”

“Oh, a threat like that could earn you a spanking, Mrs. Zimmerman.”

Your smile turned cheeky. “I wonder how else I could earn one.”

“All you have to do is ask,” he said and kissed you once more.


	19. T Is for Toy and U Is for Unfair

You didn’t care about lingerie. Yes, it was pretty, but you couldn’t see yourself ever wearing it. You never thought you’d have someone to wear it for, anyway. That is, until Flip came into your life.

He never asked you to wear anything special. He never bought you lacy things from Fredrick’s or House of Kesman. He said he’d rather have you naked and in his lap than parading around in some flimsy scraps.

That suited you just fine.

But it was your second anniversary. You two had been together longer than that, and the newness of relationship had simmered off. But perhaps, you thought, it was time to do something to celebrate the occasion.

You stood in the bathroom and clipped the last garter to your white thigh-high stockings. The white merry-widow you’d purchased was nice. It was supportive and nipped in your waist just a touch. The netting and lace accentuated your curves. The matching panties sat low on your hips.

You felt good—if a little nervous—as you slipped on the high-heeled mules you’d bought to go with the outfit. You fluffed your hair and checked yourself out one last time before opening the door.

“Flip?” you called.

“Bedroom,” he answered.

You took a deep breath and walked down the carpeted hallway, getting a hang of the heels pretty quickly. A peek around the doorjamb offered you a view of Flip lounging at the end of the bed, sans shirt or socks. The button of his dark jeans was undone, and he was leaning back on his elbows with his head thrown back. The waistband of his briefs peeked out. The long, muscled lines of him were alluring. You wanted to get your hands on him.

But first, you had to walk into the bedroom.

You took the final few steps and gripped the jamb to keep from teetering. “Hi.”

He jerked his head up and blinked at you. He sat up with his lips slowly curling into a smile.

His voice was deep and full of affection. “Hi, yourself.”

You bit your lip, happy that he seemed to like what you’re wearing. “Happy Anniversary!”

“It’s not for two days,” he said with a frown.

“I know, but you’ll be working, and I…” You shrugged. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Oooh, babygirl, it’s more than nice.” He crooked a finger at you. “Why don’t you come closer so I can see all this nice.”

You crossed to him without falling flat on your face. A minor achievement. You stepped right between his spread knees and stopped yourself from twitching. You let him look his fill.

He put his hands on the outside of your thighs; his touch light. He swept his palms back until he touched the bare skin under your ass. His fingertips were right at the crease, and you wanted to shimmy in his delicate hold.

“You’re beautiful.”

“You are, too.”

He looked up at you with a grin. “Beautiful?”

You lifted a shoulder. “Handsome.” You held his face, tilting it up to kiss, and leaned in. _“Gorgeous.”_

“No one’s ever called me that before,” he softly said.

“Well, not everyone has taste.”

You closed the gap to kiss him. His hands went to your waist and pulled you close. There was a little shuffle where you broke the kiss to straddle his lap. The garter straps pressed into the back of your legs and made you aware of each movement. He held your ass, squeezing your flesh and pulling you closer. It made you arch your back.

He regarded your chest. “Hold these tits for me.”

You did as he asked, offering them to him. He ducked in to kiss the swells of your breasts, the valley between them. He traced his lips right where the edge of the lacy cups met your skin.

It made you shiver and want to offer more.

He kissed his way up your chest to your throat. He placed slow, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck. You sighed in surrender and anchored yourself by gripping his broad shoulders. His skin under your palms was smooth and warm. You suddenly remember leaving bite marks there when he’d taken you hard.

You felt him hook his fingers under the thicker straps holding the bra cups in place. He eased them over your shoulders until they released and sagged against your upper arms. The cups were lined, though, and remained in place. He didn’t seem to mind as he kissed his way back down your chest.

He gently tucked them under the swells of your breasts. “Look at these tits. Fuck, they’re beautiful.”

He steadied your ribs and moved you up so he could tease your nipples. He dragged his teeth over them and flicked the hardening tips with his tongue. The sensation spread through you, from your chest to burn low in your belly. You whimpered and pushed against his face.

“You want more, baby?” he crooned before sucking at a nipple.

The sharp pleasure, almost too much, zinged along your nerves. You moaned his name and dug your fingers in his dark, heavy hair. You writhed in his arms, seeking more. The mules you wore slipped off your feet, hitting the floor with dull thumps. You wanted everything with him, every experience, every sensation, every type of love.

He moved to the other nipple to pull it with his teeth. You didn’t know whether to arch into it or try to pull away. Such conflicting urges had you dizzy already.

His hands traveled down your sides grip your hips. He pulled you flush against him. You could feel the mound of his erection through his denim and your satin.

“Should I fuck you like this, hm? Just push these little panties aside and slide on home?”

You whined. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want, huh?” He kissed right over your breastbone. “How about I tie you to this bed and show you how much I love you?”

You bit you lip at the thought of being at his mercy. You knew sometimes Flip didn’t have much of that. But, oh, was that appealing.

“You can do that,” you agreed.

He kissed your lips and licked into your mouth. You held him tight and tilted your head for him as you teased his tongue with your own. You liked the way his goatee abraded your skin. You liked being marked like that from him.

After long, heady minutes, he pulled away. “Go and lie back at the head of the bed for me.”

Once more, he leaned on his elbows. You ran your hands over his chest and then shuffled off him to the side. You crawled up the bed, letting your hips sway just a little. The lace and satin, what you showed off and what was hidden, made you feel sexier. Irresistible. You heard him lowly groan and you looked over your shoulder at him.

“Shit, the view from the back is just as nice, baby.”

“Yeah?” You smirked and let your hands slide forward over the mattress while keeping your back curved. You let your pointed feet kick up behind you as you stretched out.

_“Jesus Christ.”_

You smiled to yourself, turning onto your back. Flip rolled over and crawled to you. He looked like a predator stalking his prey. The muscles in his long arms bunched and relaxed as he came for you. His jeans slumped over his hips. You could see the blue cotton of his Jockeys.

He kneed your legs open and settled between them. You curled your thighs around his hips and hooked your feet together. The silkiness of your stockings didn’t make it easy to keep hold, but it hardly matter when you had him pressed against you.

He moved in to kiss you again and rolled his hips like an oiled machine. The satin of your panties rubbed against your dampening folds. They were a decadent caress on your clit.

Just as you were about reach between your bodies to unzip his jeans, he sat back. You could see how distended the front of his pants were. He studied your figure, practically eating you up with his gaze. He trailed fingertips down your torso until he reached the gap between the corselette and your underwear.

“Are you wet for me like a good girl?” He kept his touch light as he smoothed his fingers between your legs and over your panties. He hummed. “I think you are.”

“Flip,” you whined and pushed against his fingers.

He withdrew, grasped your hips, and easily maneuvered you to the center of the bed. You gripped his biceps and gasped at his casual show of strength. You settled where he placed you, relaxing against the pillows at the head of the bed.

“Put your hands above your head.”

You grasped the brass lattice-work headboard and watched Flip pluck a pair of handcuffs from the top drawer of the nightstand. The cuffs were heavy, and he’d told you they’d been his set during his patrolling days. He never latched them too tight, and he didn’t this time.

“That okay, baby?” he asked as he ran his hands down your arms.

You nodded and wiggled your wrists, rattling the metal together. He kissed you and smoothed his thumbs over your cheekbones. His gentle hands felt huge on either side of your face. It made you feel cared for and protected.

You bit back another whine when Flip went again to the nightstand. This time he riffled through the bottom drawer and pulled out something you’d never seen before: A white, corded massager. The bulb at the end was large, round, and soft-looking.

And you knew exactly what he was going to do with it.

You wiggled against the pillows. Not to get away, but to brace yourself. You had a feeling this evening was going to be a long and mostly pleasurable one.

He plugged the massager in next to the bed. “I bought this as an anniversary present.”

“Thank you,” you replied.

“Don’t thank me yet, I’ve never used one of these.”

“Neither have I.”

He knelt on the bed and switched the massager on. You could hear the buzzing of the device. He rested the bulb against his palm and hummed in thought. You wanted to ask if it felt weird. It sounded very industrial to you.

He grinned at you and knee-walked closer. “I think you’re gonna like this.”

He placed the bulb on your thigh. The vibrations were strong—stronger than you expected. It felt good, interesting. You bit your lip at the thought of it between your legs.

He slowly ran the bulb up your thigh to your hip. It didn’t feel great where the flesh was thin and the bone more prominent. It did feel nice on your belly, though. It was strangely soothing.

“You like it?” he asked.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Feels good.”

He replied with a _“good”_ and kept going. He followed the edge of the corselette and down a garter strap. He drew it back up your torso and teased one of your nipples through the bra cup. That felt strangely good. Between the silk lining caressing you and the lovely vibrations, you felt that nipple harden.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know,” he commented.

“You should see my view.”

He smiled and almost hid his face from you. But you could tell he was trying to repress a blush. You’d never get over smart, street-hardened Detective Flip Zimmerman blushing and pleased. It was charming.

With his free hand, Flip pulled the bra cup down again and kissed your nipple. He swirled his tongue and gave it a nice suck. You let out a short moan at the wet suction. He kissed your chest and sat up.

“Bend your knees and spread ‘em.”

You did as he ordered. He moved between your legs and then dragged the vibrating bulb down your inner thigh. Somehow, you could already feel the buzzing between your legs. It felt good, too. The tension was more than you could bear, though. You wanted to ask him to place the bulb on your clit. You knew you would come from that.

“Such a dirty girl. You’ve gotten these satin panties all wet.”

He curved his hand over your mound and kneaded the damp fabric against your slit. You bucked into his hand and whined for more. He put that hand on your inner thigh and forced you down to the bed. With the other, he placed the side of the bulb against your clit.

The shock of sudden pleasure had you gasping and looking down your body. “Oh shit!”

He hummed in agreement and pressed the bulb tighter to you. “This is just the first setting, too.”

“Oh shit,” you said for a totally different reason.

You squirmed and rocked against the unrelenting, vibrating bulb. Orgasm stretched thin inside you, pulling and pulling. Until it snapped. It happened so quick—quicker than any previous orgasm you could recall. You keened and convulsed against the vibrating massager as the beat of your climax kept going.

A second climax swelled just as you thought it was calming. You cried out and shook your head. It was relentless and overwhelming and terrific. You loved Flip so much for giving this to you.

“Oh my God!” you cried and struggled between the bed and his firm hold on you. _“Please!”_

He pulled the massager away, and you sagged against the pillows. The cuffs clanked against the headboard. You couldn’t catch your breath. Every muscle seemed taut and quivering.

“So good, babygirl.”

You nodded as you slowly relaxed. It _was_ so good. You heard the click of the massager’s switch, and it went silent.

“How about I remove these panties and we try again.”

_Again?_ you wanted to ask. There was more? How the hell were you going survive more?

“Honey?” He smoothed your hair away from your face.

You leaned into his touch. He wanted to give you more. You could feel his affection through his hold. If it became too much, not right, you knew he’d take care of you.

You nodded and looked up at him. His cheeks were pink. His eyes were glowing in the soft light from the bedside lamp.

“I’m okay.”

He pressed his chest to yours and kissed you. You would’ve loved to have hugged him, but your hands were kind of occupied at the moment. However, you used your knees to hug his sides.

He broke the kiss and straightened your legs out for you. It took a little finagling, but he got a hang of the garter clips. Once all the clips were loose, he eased your soaked underwear down your legs. You thought that would be the end of it, but he adjusted your thigh-highs, and you, and reclipped the garter straps one at a time.

You guessed he really liked this merry widow.

He took hold of your knees to push them up and out. “Lookit you. So wet. Love this bush.”

He practically dove between your thighs to slide his tongue into your folds. You gripped the headboard, the motion punctuated by the clank of your cuffs, and pushed against his lush mouth. The wet slip-slide of his hot tongue felt incredible. You moaned when he glanced off your sensitive clit.

He sat up and licked at his lips. “Taste so fucking good, baby.”

“Flip, please!”

“Should I give you more now? You ready?”

“Yes, please! Give it to me.”

He purred, “Love when you tell me what you want.”

“I want you, just you,” you babbled. _“Just you._ I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He picked up the massager and turned it on. You bit your lip and angled your pelvis up. He murmured a few sweet words and adjusted his hold on the massager before placing it against your exposed clitoral hood.

You moaned and clenched your thighs. He blocked your movements with his upper body and rolled the bulb over your clit. You heard the click of something and the vibrations got faster, more intense. You cursed and shook as you felt an orgasm warming your spine.

You were right there, right at the edge, and you told him. Only to have him back off and pull the buzzing bulb away from you body. You cried out at being left untouched right when you needed it.

You gasped and clenched your eyes closed. Orgasm receded like the ocean at low tide. You collapsed into the pillows and breathed.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the bulb was back on your clit. Your eyes went wide, and you felt like one big tight fist. You cursed as pleasure swelled inside you once more. You whimpered for him not to stop. You were so close. _Please don’t go._

But he backed off anyway. He was so cruel and unfair. Didn’t he love you? Didn’t he want you to feel good?

“Please, Flip, plea—!”

He stopped your pleas with the massager pressed to your slit. He ran it down between your legs. It felt amazing, and you twisted against the device. You just needed a little more or a little harder and you’d come.

Flip paused at your clit and let the massager do its job. You moaned and moved against the bulb. This time your orgasm escalated quicker. You knew it was going to happen if he didn’t move. You prayed he’d let you come, but feared he wouldn’t.

And he didn’t.

You buried your face in your arm and felt like crying. Everything was too much. You had this pressure that wouldn’t go away. You felt this close to losing it.

He seemed to have no mercy, no pity for your situation. He dragged the bulb around your hypersensitive clit over and over. Each soft pass had your pelvis clenching. But not enough to come.

Through the haze, you heard the unmistakeable metallic crackle of a zipper. The massager went away, but didn’t quiet. You peeked around your arm to see Flip on his knees and shoving down his jeans and briefs. His cock bobbed in front of him, hard and flushed and dripping precome. From this angle, it looked so big.

You mouth watered at the sight of it. You wanted it. You didn’t care where. He could fuck your face, use your tits, rub it all over your body, as long as he let you come.

He wrapped his free hand around his cock and gave it a stroke. You whimpered and spread your legs, silently asking him for it. You strained against the unbreakable cuffs. He looked at you through his lashes and brought the massager to the underside of his erection. He breathlessly cursed as the bulb came to the frenulum. His hips stuttered forward as clear, sticky precome dripped from the tip of his dick.

_“Please, Flip!”_

“Please, what, baby?” he murmured.

“Please, fuck me! Use me, let me suck it, God, I want it so bad…”

“Which is it?”

You groaned and grit your teeth, momentarily stuck in indecision. You knew you had to pick something or he wouldn’t give you any of it. “Fuck me.”

He set the massager aside, scooted forward, and braced himself over you. He guided his cock to your sopping cunt and put just the fat tip inside you. You moaned and pulled against your restraints. It was almost enough. You need more. You needed him.

You looked up at him. “All the way, please.”

“Think you can handle that?”

“Yeah—” You knew what would get to him. _“Yes, sir._ I can, I can do it, I want it.”

He let his hips drop, and his thick cock filled you. You threw your head back and moaned. You felt so full. Your pussy quivered, and you knew he felt it. He let his head fall forward and let out a vicious _“fuck!”_

Flip gripped the back of your thighs and pushed them out and away. He seemed to go deeper because of that, and you swore you could feel his dick in your chest. He wasted no time in starting a punishing rhythm. He slammed his hips down, going as deep as he could. Each thrust dragged against your alighted nerves.

The buzzing massager rolled against your side and made you jump away from the unexpected sensation. You clenched around his pistoning cock, and he groaned.

He bit out, “You want that, don’t you?”

You shook your head as you glanced down between your bodies. You didn’t think you’d be able to take the onslaught. But deep down, you wondered if you could.

“You’re lying.”

He stilled above you. You cried out in denial; you cried for more.

“Flip!” you moaned. “I-I can’t!”

“Yeah, you can. And you’re gonna.”

He picked up the massager and thrust it right between your bodies. You screeched and shoved your hips up. The vibrations went deep to the core of you. You heard him groan. You felt him begin to move again. Each thrust pushed the massager against your clit. Between his huge cock pumping inside you and the vibrations from the massager, you were right at the cusp of orgasm.

You begged then, hardly caring how unseemly it was. You pleaded with him not to stop. And he didn’t. He was ruthless, fucking you harder and faster. The sweat dripped off his forehead and landed on your chest. Your shook with each demanding thrust.

For one sweet second, everything in your body clamped down. You couldn’t hear the squeaking of the bed, or the way the headboard glanced off the wall, or the syrupy squelches of his thrusts. You closed your eyes, let your head fall back, and gave in.

And when you did, you shattered into a million pieces.

Your body was one throbbing, exposed nerve. Every sensation bordered on too much. Your wild, powerful pulse was everywhere, from your clit to the top of your head. It was wonderful. It was scary. There was no escape. All you had was blind ecstasy and the blessed heat of Flip against you to keep you from drowning. He was deep inside you, too—filling you with more than just his cock. He kept you afloat in that secret, soft, endless space. You felt him—felt his devotion to you, his strength, his brilliance.

You loved him so much.

He tenderly shushed you and moved away. You tried to reach for him, but you were still shackled to the headboard. His large hands rubbed at your wrists, and then you felt the loosening of the cuffs. At the first sign you could move your arms, you wrapped one behind his sweaty neck. You shoved your face under his jaw and sobbed in overload.

He released your other wrist and directed it around him. You fiercely latched onto him, feeling his arms go around you with equal intensity. He kissed your temple and whispered sweet words in your ear:

“So good to me. My baby. So beautiful, honey. Love you so much. Don’t ever wanna let you go.”

No, you didn’t want to let him go, either. You responded to his words by kissing his neck. Somehow, you knew he grinned. He was pleased. You’d pleased him.

His hand smoothed away your hair from your damp forehead. He kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheek. He nuzzled in, and you hiccuped a happy giggle at the way his goatee tickled.

“Heeey, there she is,” he whispered and looked into your eyes.

You smiled and saw him for the first time in what felt like ages. He was flushed all the way down his chest, and his dark hair was sticking to his dewy skin. You leaned up to offer a kiss, because you couldn’t help it. He pressed his lips to yours again and again, keeping it light and almost playful.

“Thirsty, babygirl?”

You nodded.

“Gotta let me go first.”

_Oh yeah._ You snorted at yourself and released him. He kissed you one more time and wriggled off the bed, kicking away his jeans as he went. You curled onto your side, feeling the thick flood of come ooze down the back of your thigh. You watched him let his briefs fall once he stood. You admired the rugged lines of him and the creaminess of his mole-dotted skin.

Turning back to you, he offered to bundle you in the comforter. You made a little affirmative noise and nodded, clutching at the comforter when he wrapped it around you. He kissed your forehead one more time and slipped away to the kitchen. You buried your nose in the blanket and sighed.

Maybe for Hanukkah, you hazily mused with a grin, you could buy more lingerie. Give him one piece of an outfit per night. A different type of gelt.


	20. V Is for Volume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for an anonymous request I received, like, a week and a half ago. Thank you, sweet nonnie, for the idea and your patience! ❤️ I had no idea what to do for this letter until you chimed in.

Flip had suggested camping a few weeks ago. It had still been cold then—way too cool for camping, really. The thought of being alone with him for days at a time made you apprehensive. Not because you thought he would try something, because he had never pressured you, but because you didn’t know what to expect.

Honestly, you didn’t know if apprehensive was the right term for what you felt. You were jittery, but not scared. You were excited. _Maybe?_ You wanted to spend time with him where you wouldn’t have to part at the end of an evening.

You wanted to sit by a fire and roast marshmallows or hot dogs as you talked with him. Pack a light lunch and go hiking. Perhaps feed a friendly raccoon. You wanted to experience all those quintessential camping activities with Flip by your side.

He suggested Mountaindale Cabins. They were small rudimentary cabins with no electricity or water. There was a central bathhouse and a few public latrines scattered throughout the vast property, which abutted a state preserve. It wasn’t full-out roughing-it, per se, but it wasn’t glamorous either.

He offered to cook/grill for you. He said he had a big cooler, Coleman lanterns, lawn-chairs, and cots. All you had to do was get yourself a decent sleeping bag and pair of boots. You’d visited the Army surplus to purchase both. The clerk had been very helpful and warned you about the snakes you might encounter. Actually, the clerk had been insistent about the snakes. He’d tried to sell you a machete for beheading snakes.

When Flip had picked you up yesterday morning, he had complimented your choices. On the way to the campground, you’d told him about your shopping excursion and the dire, serious, urgent warning of snakes.

He’d chuckled. “There _are_ snakes, but they’re waaaay more scared of you than you are of them.” He’d taken your hand then and kissed the back of it. “We’ll try not to spook ‘em.”

You attempted not to think about the sexual symbolism of snakes. You wanted to make an off-color joke about trouser snakes, but you didn’t want to open that can of worms. Or snakes, in this case.

The first day and night had been fun. Surprisingly. Flip made it fun. At night, you’d sat side-by-side and stared at the fire while talking about nothing in particular. He was gorgeous in the orange light from the fire. He’d kissed you with his big hand holding the side of your neck. There’d been no urgency, for which you were grateful.

Because you were inexperienced. You’d gotten close to third base: some groping over pants and grinding. There was even some under-shirt fondling. Flip had pinched your nipples. That had felt good. You’d felt that down to your toes.

But the jeans stayed zipped.

It wasn’t because you were a prude. You just weren’t ready. Yet. But you might soon be ready with Flip. No one had made you feel comfortable like him. He wasn’t playing with you. He never expected anything. He never demanded you get him off or complain of blue balls, like a few of your exes.

This afternoon, he’d found a thick log to roll by the firepit. He turned it dry-side up and sat on it as he tended to the small foil-wrapped burritos you both had assembled. You sat next to him and assisted when you could. After eating and dusk turning into full night, he’d pulled you onto his lap and held you.

“Thank you for suggesting this,” you softly said as you put an arm behind his shoulders.

“Thanks for agreeing. I like doing this with you.”

“Yeah? City slicker in the wilderness?”

“My city slicker.” He gave you a squeeze. “You handled yourself fine on the walk today.”

You laughed. “We did not go on a 'walk’ today! That was a five-hour hike.”

“But we weren’t going fast.” He grinned at you, teasing.

“Well, thank God for small favors! I would’ve died running up that trail.”

“You did like it, though?”

“Of course, I did! We saw deer and ate peanut-butter-jelly sandwiches! What could be better?”

He stretched up to offer you a kiss. “I can’t think of anything.”

You took that offer and kissed him. You clung to him as he deepened the kiss. His tongue teased yours. He tasted like hot sauce. You sucked on his bottom lip and dipped in for more.

He groaned into the kiss as he pulled you tight against him. His chest was firm under your palm, and he arched into your touch. He slowed the kiss until it was just open-mouthed caresses. Back and forth it went, with the touch of tongue every now and then.

The kiss naturally cooled down, and you pressed your forehead to Flip’s. “You’re really good at that.”

“What’s that?” he asked with a smirk.

You gently poked his chest. “Kissing.”

“Easy to be good with you.”

You hummed and kissed him again. You ran your fingers through his hair and traced the shell of his ear. He shivered and practically purred. His hands slid over your thigh, up your back. You suddenly wanted to feel them on your bare skin, between your legs—everywhere.

That wasn’t a new thought, but its strength threw you off. Flip pulled back and gave you a questioning look. You returned with a small grin and a shake of your head.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “We should go to bed soon.”

You nodded, but tucked your head against his shoulder. The fire was dying, yet there was still plenty of heat to keep the night chill at bay. It didn’t hurt that Flip ran hot, either.

The silence stretched out until the last of the flames died down. All that was left were smoldering cinders. You sat up as you suggested you both tidy the site and head to bed. He agreed and steadied you as you rose to your feet.

The site was easy to take care of. Flip lit the Coleman lanterns and doused the fire as you gathered all the leftover food into the cooler. Together, you hauled the cooler into the cabin. He moved the lanterns inside, and you unrolled the sleeping bags.

Once things were mostly settled you mentioned you wanted to use the latrine and make a stop at the bathhouse before turning in. Flip offered to walk you down, but you picked up the flashlight and said you had it under control.

You kept the flashlight pointed at the ground to watch for critters—furry or otherwise. The circuit didn’t take you too long. You struggled in the darkness for a moment when you couldn’t find the right campsite marker.

Once you saw the lantern light coming from the tiny windows of the cabin, you turned off the flashlight and made your way to the small porch. As you placed your foot on the first step, you heard Flip’s voice. It sounded like he was talking to himself. You smiled and waited to discern what he was privately bitching about.

You heard him suddenly groan a drawn out _“fuck.”_ You wondered if he was hurt. Holy shit, had a snake actually gotten in the cabin?

Rushing up the two steps and through the door did not reveal what you feared you’d find. No, Flip was sitting diagonally on his cot, leaning back on an elbow. His flannel was undone and his undershirt was pushed up his pale torso. His jeans were bunched around his thigh. You could see the band of his boxers visible in the vee of the open fly.

That was nothing compared to the sight of his hard, flushed cock in his fist.

Flip folded in on himself and cursed, shielding his erection. You held up your hands and took a step forward. He was gorgeous in the flickering light from the lanterns. It seemed his cock was very _proportional_ to the rest of him.

You didn’t want him to stop, though. You wanted to see him, see all of him, see how he touched himself.

“Please, don’t stop,” you breathed and closed the door without turning away from him.

He struggled with his jeans. “What— No, baby, I didn’t— I don't—”

“I mean it, don’t stop.” You inched closer. “I want to see you.”

“See me?”

“I want to know…” You could feel your face heating up. _“You know._ See how you like it.”

“That isn’t really…”

You bit your lip. “I want to watch. Please, Flip.”

His heated gaze roamed over you. You wanted to immediately close the distance and touch him. Definitely kiss him. Maybe help him. You didn’t know what to do, exactly, but you certainly wanted to learn.

After a moment of hesitation, he leaned back. His erection had flagged a little, but he didn’t appear concerned as he ran a thumb over the glossy head of his dick. You approached him, your gaze glued between his legs. You couldn’t look away as his cock filled out again.

“Can I sit next to you?” you gently asked.

“Ye-yeah.”

You sat and glanced at his face to find him staring at you. “What were you thinking about?”

_“You,”_ he panted as he gave his renewed erection a lazy stroke. “Kissing you. The little noises you make when I touch you. God, your fuckin’ body.”

You clenched your thighs together and everything below the waist throbbed. You could feel yourself getting wet just from the rumble of his voice. There were so many urges going through your mind: you wanted to taste every inch of his cock, wrap your hands around it, straddle his lap, grind your clit on him, feel him raw against you. You wondered how it would feel for him to come in you.

Flip’s strokes sped up, and he pushed into them. The schlick of every downstroke somehow made your mouth water. His thighs clenched, as did his stomach. There was a delicate trail of dark hair down his belly. It widened at the base of his cock. You wanted to touch it, know its texture.

“I’ve thought of you,” you confessed.

“Tell me.”

“I…” Your mouth felt dry and you swallowed. “I imagine my hands are yours. I want you touch me everywhere.”

“You finger yourself?” He sounded strained.

You nodded. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“And you think of me?”

You nodded again.

“I’ll be good to you, baby— _oh fuck!”_

You looked at his face to see him blushing, his mouth open. You pivoted on your hip and laid on your side next to him. His dark, deep eyes stared into yours. You rested a hand on his stomach and leaned in to kiss him. He met you halfway, biting at your bottom lip, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

He paused after a minute and murmured against your lips, “Gonna come.”

His eyes were clenched shut, and there was a little divot between his brows. You directed your gaze down his body. His cock was so red now. The network of veins along the shaft was thrown into sharp relief in the warm glow of the lanterns.

You inched your fingers down his stomach to his bellybutton. You teased the hair right below. That seemed to be enough extra stimulation because his hips arched off the cot. He made this choked-off whimper-y groan that might’ve been your name.

And then he came. All over his stomach, the back of your hand. It went on and on, white strings of come landing on his torso. It was warm and thick.

Flip kept stroking and tugging as if to wring every single drop of pleasure out. He shook under his own ministrations, and you looked at his face. You saw pure ecstasy, the kind you’d seen carved out of marble, and it made you want to weep. He was beautiful and vulnerable and _yours_.

You brought your come-splattered hand to your face and sniffed. It didn’t smell offensive—a little salty and mineral-y astringent. You mentally shrugged and licked it up. It tasted like it smelled: sharp, briny, and a little bitter.

He flopped onto the cot, arm over his eyes, and moaned your name. “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me.”

You scooted up to grin at him. “You can’t die, Flip.”

“Why’s that?” he asked as he peeked from under his elbow.

“Well, you haven’t seen me get off yet.”

He moved his arm out of the way. “That an offer, baby?”

“It might be.” You lifted a shoulder and then leaned in closer to almost kiss him.

“Would this possible offer be available tonight?”

“Good chance,” you said with a smile.

He hummed and wet his bottom lip. “Then why don’t you take off those pants and show me that pretty pussy.”

You gave him a brief, sweet kiss before doing just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	21. W Is for Wild Card

“I want to try something,” you said a few nights ago after he’d pulled in front of your apartment building.

He’d frowned as he put the car in Park and asked what you wanted to try. There was a note of suspicion, or maybe curiosity, in his voice. You fidgeted and smoothed your damp palms on the thighs of your jeans. Could you really ask for it? You were an adult, you countered, and if you wanted something, you had to ask. But how to articulate it?

Flip said your name, a question at the end.

You shook yourself, looked him right in the eye, and said, “I want you to finger my ass.”

He blinked.

“While we have sex,” you clarified.

“Yeeeah, that would be the ideal time.”

You laughed and playfully cuffed him on the arm. “I mean it.”

“I’ve never done that before,” he confessed with a grin.

“Neither have I, but I look at your hands…”

He held up a hand and studied it in the streetlight coming in through the windshield. You did, too. He had elegant hands. They weren’t beautiful like a woman’s. They were sturdy and lean with big palms and long fingers. He was strong, too, and he used them well. Especially on you.

The thought of him pushing his lubed fingers in your ass had you squirming on your down-time. You wanted to be full of him, touched everywhere by him. You wanted to know how it felt.

Flip hadn’t brought it up since, but it had only been four days. You wondered if he would agree, if he was even interested. He hadn’t said yea or nay that night, either. He’d walked you to your door and kissed you good-night.

In those four days, and left to your own devices, you’d talked yourself into and out of hypothetical scenarios. At first, you thought you’d broach the topic again, but, you pointed out, you’d already done that. Then, you thought you’d ignore it altogether and not bring it up until he did. However, that wouldn’t get you what you wanted.

And he hadn’t seemed turned off by the idea.

So, you invited him over for dinner. You’d play it by ear. There was no pressure. On either of you. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It was a cold night, so you decided to make something hardy for him. He was thoughtful, bringing a chilled bottle of good white wine to go with the skillet chicken thighs you’d made. He kissed you after you hung up his coat. His hands were still cool from the outside as he gently held your cheeks.

“Smells good in here,” he murmured and gave you another kiss.

You smiled and led him into the kitchen, telling him all what you made and how you’d altered the recipes just a little. He hummed in interest and popped open the wine for you. However, despite the chicken being delicious, you found yourself too wound-up to eat much. You hoped he wasn’t paying attention to your plate.

You ended up drinking more wine than you intended, and it made you flirtier, more brazen. You watched Flip handle his knife and fork. He didn’t seem to notice your scrutiny. He laughed with you, flirted back, and let you feed him. And play with his hair. And kiss his cheek when you brought him seconds.

After dinner, he helped you clear the table and wash up. He rolled up the sleeves of his button-up shirt. His forearms were strong and elegant like his hands. Something about the span of muscle and bone caught your eye. The turn of his wrist was enough to make your cheeks warm.

You felt like a prudish Victorian, practically getting the vapors at seeing a hint of ankle. It was ridiculous.

As you were hosing down the sink, Flip cleared his throat.

“So, I’m just gonna address the elephant in the room.”

You turned off the faucet and picked up the kitchen towel to dry your hands.

He continued, “I’ve been thinking about you…”

Thinking about your ass, you thought and handed him the towel.

“About what you said—what you want to try.” He wiped off his hands and passed the towel back. “And I want what you want. I’ll try anything with you.”

You nodded and folded the towel over the sink edge. “You don’t have to, you know. It was just a thought.”

“Baby, it’s been on my mind ever since. And I know we can make it good.”

You finally met his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I know how I want to do it, too.”

“How?” you asked with a smile.

He licked his bottom lip and turned you by the hip to face him. His eyes flashed with lust. Your gut clenched, and your breath caught in your throat.

“I’m gonna kiss you first,” he stated and leaned forward to press his lips to yours.

You rested your hands on his chest and relaxed in his hold. You loved his kisses. His full lips were plush against yours. His tongue was velvety and hot. He tasted of wine. You whimpered in need, surrendering to your own desire.

“Then, I’m gonna walk you back to your bedroom.”

He put an arm around your back and began to shuffle you out of the kitchen. You laughed and held onto him, almost two-stepping through your apartment. He grinned as his hand glided down your back to your ass.

At the doorway to your bedroom, you asked, “And then?”

“I’m gonna bend you over your bed and see what you got under that skirt.”

He walked you backwards and forced you around. He put a big hand at the middle of your back and made you bend. You braced yourself with hands on the bed, your ass right against his crotch. He nudged your feet apart like he was going to frisk you. He ground his pelvis against you for a few seconds.

“Stay right there,” he ordered and stepped away.

You heard him pad behind you, and the lamp by the bed clicked on. You glanced over your shoulder to see him riffle through your nightstand to find the lube. Before he turned back, you faced forward again and stared down at the quilt.

“What do you have under that skirt, baby? Something nice?”

You struggled for a moment to answer. “S-something for you.”

“Oh yeah? Why dontcha show me.”

You pulled up your winter-weight skirt and let it bunch at the small of your back. Your underwear was red and slinky nylon with elastic-lace trim. To say you hadn’t had him in mind when you put them on after your shower would be a lie.

“I like these,” he commented and squeezed your ass with both hands.

You pressed into his touch as he massaged and spread the cheeks of your ass. Your panties slipped right into the cleft. The soft fabric rubbed against your asshole and clung to the wetness starting to pool between your legs.

His hands withdrew. “Take ‘em off.”

You hooked your thumbs under the waistband and drew them down. You paused when they were right at the tops of your thighs, and Flip told you to take them all the way down. You nodded and wiggled them down until you could kick them to the side. You then put your hands on the bed once more and arched your back.

He gripped your naked hips and pulled you backwards until you were resting against the warm bulge of his cock. The denim of his jeans was coarse against your skin. The tab of the fly chafed a line on your ass as he rolled his hips against you.

You bit your lip before whispering, “Please.”

“What was that?”

_“Please.”_

He kept moving against you, teasing you. “Please, what, honey?”

“Please finger me.”

“Want me to put my hands on you, huh?”

“Yes, please!”

You could feel him grin down at you. He liked when you asked nicely. He let go of your hips and pulled away. A second later both of his huge hands clapped down on your ass. It stung in the best way, and you moaned as your knees went weak.

“Again?” he asked.

You nodded and braced yourself. He didn’t disappoint with another two-handed smack. The heat bloomed under your skin. The reverberation went straight to your cunt. You felt the unmistakeable trickle of your juices run down your slit.

He moved behind you, and you felt him spread you open from a different angle. There was the distinct puff of air against your pussy. It was the only warning you were given before his tongue lapped at your wet folds.

You groaned and pushed against his face, silently begging for more. His nose pressed against you, and his goatee prickled your flesh. He ran his tongue up your slit to your asshole. You wheezed in shock. No one had ever done that before. He circled your hole and then went back down. Over and over, from your clit to your hole, he dragged his silken tongue.

You couldn’t stop writhing and humping back. You keened. It felt so good. You were so wet with his spit and your juices. You opened your mouth to beg when he pulled back.

“Hold still.”

You heard the snap of a plastic lid. You knew that sound. It was the lube bottle. You reached back one-handed to spread yourself open for him. You wanted to demand, to growl 'gimme gimme gimme,’ but you knew that would only make him slow down.

The first touch of cool lube to your asshole made you gasp. “Please, Flip!”

He didn’t ease you into it, he drove his thick finger deep inside your ass. The feeling of fullness in your ass was a new sensation. And then he began stroking inside you, pulling his finger out and pushing it back in. That was new, too, and _good_.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. Just the thought of him using your ass had your pussy throbbing.

With his dry hand, he maneuvered one of your knees onto the bed. You lowered yourself onto your elbows. You felt his soft hair on your inner thighs before his tongue was back in your wet slit. You rocked against his mouth, with his finger.

You cursed as he found your clit and flicked it with his tongue. You jerked and hid your hot face in the crook of your elbow. You were going to come at any second.

Flip almost pulled his finger out of you, and you whined in protest. Only he didn’t pull free. Without warning, you felt him push against your hole with two fingers. You didn’t know if you were ready, if you could take it, but your ass was slippery with lube. He eased his fingers in, and you cried out at the unfamiliar, intense feeling of fullness.

“Good?” he checked.

“So good—don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” you babbled against your arm.

He pumped his fingers in your ass and found your clit again. He sped up his movements: his tongue circling your clit, his fingers plunging in your lubed ass. Your thighs locked up and your stomach quivered as he drove you to the brink of orgasm. You gasped and clamped your jaw, your eyes squeezing shut.

You bit out, “Gonna come.”

He hummed deep in his chest and kept going. His skilled mouth felt amazing, his gorgeous, heavy fingers twisted deep inside you. You cried as he pushed you over the edge. Climax rushed through your body, stealing all coherent thought. The sharp, searing pleasure shocked you. You felt like the top of your head was going to burst. Your empty cunt thumped again and again in juicy waves and your knees quavered. Your ass felt so _full_.

You incrementally relaxed as the ripples of orgasm died down. Somehow, body memory held you up. Flip licked up your slit again, and you jolted against his tongue. He gently pulled his fingers out of your ass and gave one ass-cheek a parting kiss.

Once clear, you collapsed forward onto the bed while trying to catch your breath.

Behind you, you heard him unzip his jeans. “Get those clothes off, baby, I’m not done with you.”


	22. X Is for X-Ray

You plucked the patient chart from the holder by examine room eleven. You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face when you read the patient’s name. A few of the nurses and one of your fellow doctors knew you were dating a CSPD detective named Flip, but none of them knew his real name was Phillip Zimmerman.

To officially treat him skirted the ethical lines, of course, but you’d been doing just that since the accident. That night had been hair-raising and only your training had kept you from freaking out. He’d been coming home late when some idiot ran a red light and t-boned him. Luckily, he hadn’t been seriously hurt. He’d suffered the usual contusions, abrasions, and a minor hematoma on the side of his head.

He’d been given time off to heal, and you’d taken every opportunity to look after him. At first, he’d detested being babied and denied access to a vehicle, but you’d gotten your way. And he hadn’t complained about you spending time with him.

You opened the door to the examine room and introduced yourself as you stepped inside. His eyes widened, and you winked. You closed the door and pulled the radiographs from the chart. You asked him how he was feeling as you clipped them to the light box on the wall.

“I’m fine. You know…”

You hummed and turned the light box on to review his head injury. Nothing had been broken during the accident, but it was good to confirm he’d healed. He hadn’t reported sharp headaches, dizziness, or cognitive difficulties in the days following the incident.

“Your skull looks fine,” you agreed. “I want to examine the bruising, though. Please strip to your underwear.”

_“What?”_

You turned off the light box and faced him. “Please strip.”

He appeared to squirm without really moving and said your name. 

_“Doctor,”_ you corrected.

“Doctor,” he muttered in apology. “I don’t know if that’s necessary.”

“Are you the physician here, _Detective_ Zimmerman?”

“No, Doctor.”

“Then allow me to examine your injuries.”

You were close to threatening to not sign off on his return to work. You wouldn’t actually do it, though. In your opinion, he was ready, and you knew he was miserable without a case.

Flip sighed and hopped off the exam table. The paper liner crinkled under his hands. You went to the supplies cabinet, took a pair of nitrile gloves from the box on the counter, and wiggled your hands into them. You tested your stethoscope, because you were definitely going to listen to his lungs.

When you turned back, you saw he was just pushing down his jeans. He bent over, and you mentally hummed. He had a nice ass. You liked grabbing it to pull him against your body. He eyes always smoldered when you did it.

He straightened and folded his jeans over the exam table. That left him in his baby-blue briefs and white undershirt. Which simply wouldn’t do.

“Shirt too, please.”

He looked at you for a second, calculating, before yanking it off. He tossed it onto his jeans and stood there in all his glory. He really was a fine specimen of a man. You liked his broad shoulders and thick arms. You liked the way the fine gold chain with the Star of David charm rested below the dip of his suprasternal notch. The iliac furrows on either side of his pelvis were softly defined and pointed perfectly to his impressive cock. Unfortunately, it was mostly covered by his Fruit of the Looms.

What wasn’t covered, however, was the series of contusions going down his left side. They were now green and yellow instead of the distressing purple from a week and a half ago. He had been lucky the other car had struck the passenger side.

As you approached him, you asked, “Any pain? Discomfort? _Stiffness?”_

“Not usually, Doctor.”

You nodded, hiding your smirk with an understanding look, and hooked the stethoscope’s eartips in your ears. “I’m going to listen to your lungs and heart.” You held the cool metal of the diaphragm against your palm to warm it before placing it on the center of his chest.

He breathed deep for you, and you rested your free hand on his chest. You rubbed your thumb against his pec. You could smell the phantom of his cologne. He was running warm, you noted. You put the diaphragm in different spots and heard no rattling, wheezing, or irregular heart beats. However, his heart was beating a little faster than normal.

You trailed your hand over his shoulder as you stepped around to his back to listen from that side. Even through the glove, you could feel the smoothness of his skin. You let your fingertips sweep down his back, and you held him steady at the waist.

“Your heartbeat is a little fast.” You slid an arm around his body. “Are you stressed?”

“No, Doctor.”

_“Stimulated?”_

He glanced down for a second. “Something like that.”

You grinned and traced the waistband of his briefs. “Should I call a nurse to observe? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“No, Doc, I trust you.”

“Thank you,” you murmured and kissed one of his scapulae.

You stepped back, tucking the stethoscope into your lab coat pocket, and rolled the med stool over. You sat and wheeled closer to his left side. You kept your touch light as you palpitated the flesh surrounding the contusions. You asked him if anything hurt, and he whispered _“no.”_

You gently pushed the side of his briefs up to see the top of the contusion on his leg. It looked good—on the mend. You noticed how his underwear left little to the imagination. You could easily tell he was half-hard.

You smoothed the briefs back in place, letting your hands linger on his hip. “Anything else I should examine down here?”

He bit his lip, and his cheeks bloomed pink. Such a beautiful involuntary response. You ducked your head so he wouldn’t see you smile.

When he said nothing, you looked up. “Detective Zimmerman?”

“Not yet, Doctor, please.”

_So polite._

You nodded and requested he lift his left arm. From your seated position, you skimmed your hands up his side to press on his ribs. They were firm and holding, and he didn’t wince. Not a surprise. You stood and held his outstretched arm to inspect the contusion covering his deltoid and bicep. You found it to be healing as well as the other injuries he’d sustained.

“You may lower your arm,” you softly said as you let him go.

His arm dropped to his side. He met your gaze then, and his eyes were dark pools of desire. You were familiar with that look. It wasn’t even a shock to see it.

“Is there anything I’ve overlooked?” you asked, all innocent. “Something I didn’t address?”

“Now that you mention it, I might’ve bumped my lip in the accident.”

“Oh?” It was a lie, of course. His beautiful lips were in perfect condition. “Well, just relax for me, and I’ll take a look.”

You stepped in front of him and pulled your gloves tight. You delicately traced the edge of his full bottom lip with your finger and hummed in fake contemplation. You dragged his lip down, testing its resilience.

“Everything appears normal, but I might need a closer look.”

“Anything you need, Doctor,” Flip murmured and wet his bottom lip.

You raised yourself on tip-toe, bracing a hand on his naked chest. He tilted his head down and to the side without your prompting and met you halfway. His lips were soft and slick against yours. You could feel the tiny puffs of his breath against your cheek, his large hands on your hips under you lab coat, the heat radiating off him.

You kind of lost yourself with him. The footsteps outside the examine room didn’t concern you. The other doctors being paged over the intercom was easily ignored. It was just Flip for you.

You pulled back and stared into his dazzling brown eyes. You were so thankful he was relatively okay. He was a strong person, and his body was healing very well. You smiled at him and ran your fingers through his luscious hair. He relaxed in your tender caress. His scalp was smooth; the knot of the hematoma was long gone.

You gently said, “I’m going to sign off on your return to work.”

He perked up at that.

“With a few caveats,” you went on, and he almost pouted. “No late nights, no chasing after criminals, and you’ll see me this weekend.”

He smirked. “I can do that.”

“Good.” You nodded. “And one more thing: take off your underwear.”

 _“Doc…”_ He glanced at the hallway door.

You went over and flicked the lock on the door. “Underwear, Detective.”

You then marched to the supplies cabinet again and found the box of lubricating jelly packets. You heard the crinkle of the table liner as you pulled one out and carefully tore it open. After you turned, you stopped dead in your tracks.

Flip was leaning on the exam table, paper under his ass, legs spread. His spectacular dark-pink cock was fully erect and bobbing between those long, muscular legs. His balls were high and tight.

You wanted to ride him and feel that big cock fill you, but you didn’t have a condom. You couldn’t afford to be seen in less than a professional state, either. It was a shame, but this would have to do for now.

“I see you’re suffering with priapism,” you commented as you squirted the lube onto your right hand.

He looked at his groin. “It happens a lot when I’m with this one person. Medical professional. Real sexy.”

 _“Highly unusual._ May I assist in alleviating the condition?”

“I’d appreciate your help, Doctor.”

You just bet he would.

You stepped to his left side, dropping the empty packet on the paper behind him, and smoothed the jelly onto his erection. He drew in a sharp breath and propped himself on his hands.

 _“Fuuuck,”_ he breathed as you curled your slippery gloved fist around his cock.

You put your other arm behind his back to hold him while making sure not to lean too heavily against his left side. As you began to stroke him, he panted and curled his upper body towards you. His eyes met yours, and he stared at you as high color blossomed in his cheeks.

You twisted your hand under the corona of his cock. His eyes went half-mast, and he sagged against the table. His erection was so hot and heavy in your hand. You’d love to play with him for the rest of your shift, but you had another patient in ten minutes.

Flip flexed his hips, making each up-stroke of your hand a little more intense. You could feel yourself becoming more aroused the more you watched him. The wet _schlick-schlick_ sounds of your movements turned you on even more. You squeezed his cock a little as you worked him faster. He rested his chin on his clavicle with eyes still on you and bit his lip. His chest pumped as he fought to keep quiet.

“Kiss me,” he lowly ordered.

While this was your scene, your exam room, you indulged him. You leaned up and kissed him hard. He licked into your mouth and devoured you. It was overwhelming and had you squirming against his side.

You broke the kiss and got rougher with him. You sped up the tempo, working him harder. His head bent back like a broken flower, and he panted at the ceiling. He gasped he was going to come.

You kissed his shoulder and watched his dick. You knew the precise moment when he hit the point of no return. His cock flushed darker, as did his chest, and he stiffened in your hold. He whispered a curse as you concentrated on the head, tugging and twisting.

He let out a muted groan, his stomach clenching, and thrust into the tight circle of your hand. His cock spurted thick, creamy strands of come, which landed on the linoleum in delicate splats. If he had been inside you, you would’ve felt each throb of his orgasm. The thought had your belly clenching.

You eased your grip and held his cock as he relaxed. He looked at you as he let out a breath. His eyes gleamed under the bright fluorescents. He suddenly dipped in to kiss you again, and you allowed it.

When the kiss naturally paused, you said, “I think just violated ten different points on the hospital’s code of conduct.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he replied, all devious and dirty.


	23. Y Is for Yearning

You walked into homeroom, and Flip felt the blood drain from his head. You were wearing a skirt he’d never seen before: pleated tartan with a big safety pin keeping the slit closed. He could see the hint of a bra through your cream-colored button-up. To top the whole thing off, you were wearing white knee socks.

God, you looked like a wet dream.

His dick agreed, and he leaned his upper body over the desk to hide the distended front of his corduroys. He wondered why you thought it was a good idea to come to school looking like that. The flash of thigh as you sat should be illegal.

He had to think of something else so his hard-on would dissipate before the first bell rang. He thought of mowing the lawn, picking up warm dog turds, the Broncos’ shitty season. Anything to get his dick under control.

Then he remembered he shared three— _three!_ —classes with you: Algebra, Natural Sciences, and English Lit. He was going to fucking die.

He didn’t die, but he did pay extra attention to Mr. Ellis in lit class. And he didn’t look at you. He kept not looking at you until lunch.

Then he couldn’t not look at you.

You were giggling and talking with your friends at your group’s table. If he glanced over, he could catch a good view of you from the side. He wanted to crawl under the table and bury his head between your soft thighs. He bet you were wearing pink cotton panties. Maybe with little daisies on them.

He couldn’t take this shit anymore. He made his excuses to his buddies and headed to the john. Fuck this whole day, and fuck your cute goddamn skirt. Why were you so fucking pretty!? He should’ve faked sick and gone home after homeroom. He could’ve made a whole day of cranking it to you.

Instead he locked himself in one of the bathroom stalls and unzipped his pants. The relief almost made him groan, but he remembered where he was. He tucked the waistband of his boxers under his balls and steadied his growing erection.

He wanted to storm back into the cafeteria and lay you across one of the tables. He spat in his hand. He’d get his hands all over you, touch your tits and learn the shape of you. He would lean in close to smell your perfume. He’d flip up your skirt and tear your panties right down your legs. He couldn’t imagine your bush, but he bet it was gorgeous. A simple triangle pointing him down to your hot pussy.

You’d moan as he spread your thighs and dove in like a starved man. He’d lick your sweet pussy until you were nice and wet for him. He’d have you squirming on the table, begging for a good pounding.

And he’d give it to you. He’d slide his cock right in. You’d be so hot and tight around him as you grabbed the edge of the table to brace yourself. You’d take it like a good girl should, too.

He stroked his cock with his spit-wet hand and thought of the way your tits would bounce with each thrust. He’d press his chest to yours to feel it. He would drive in deep and hard, pushing the lunch table back with each thrust until it met the closest wall. The chunky heels of your mary-janes would dig into his ass and spur him on.

He leaned a hand on the tiled wall behind the toilet and pressed his gasps into his arm.

And when he finally came, you’d moan and buck under him. You’d tried to get his spunk as deep inside you as you could. You’d be hungry for it, beg him for more.

With his dick still inside you, he’d reach between your bodies to rub at your clit. He squeezed his cock as he imagined you coming around it. He’d tell you that you were the best girl. You were the prettiest girl, the nastiest girl, with the sweetest pussy in school. You’d taken his load so well.

“Ah fuck,” he whispered against his arm and thought of you whimpering for a kiss.

He aimed for the water in the toilet bowl, thoughts of kissing the Chapstick off your lips on his mind, and came in heavy, pleasure-racked spurts. His knees quaked, his hips pumped. He let his head fall back. He wanted to come in your mouth, pull your hair as he took you from behind. He wanted to have fun with you for hours.

He caught his breath and wiped off his dick. He zipped his fly and examined his pants and suede Chukkas for jizz. Luckily, he’d gotten better with not coming all over himself.

He washed his hands and combed his hair away from his face. He couldn’t do anything about the flush of his cheeks, but whatever. Anyone who said anything could sit and spin.

Once out in the hallway, he debated about where to go. He didn’t want to head back to class. He was hungry again, too, but he’d spent his lunch money. Across the way was a water fountain and that would have to do. Before he could cross, you and your friends came out of the cafeteria.

You immediately caught his eye, and he wondered if you could tell he’d just tugged one out while thinking of you. You met his gaze as you passed and gave him a shy grin. His heart kicked into overdrive. You didn’t know. You couldn’t.

But maybe if he could work up the nerve to ask you out, you would.


	24. Z Is for ZZZ

After the second time of losing his grip on the sofa, he asked if you wanted to move to the bedroom. You nodded, though you really didn’t mind the location. As long as he kept fucking you, he could lay you out on the itchy shag carpet.

Flip slipped out of you, shoved his hands under your ass, and growled for you to hang on. You wrapped your arms behind his neck and your legs around his waist. He hoisted you into the air as he got to his knees.

You gasped and warned him not to hurt himself. You were no feather pillow. He dismissively grunted and easily got to his feet.

“Just hang on.”

You tightened your hold, kissing his cheek, as he walked naked through the sunny house. He kissed your shoulder in reply. He was so good to you, always making sure you knew how much he cared.

He got to the master bedroom and knee-walked on the big bed in the middle of it. The comforter and sheets were still mussed from the morning, but that hardly mattered. You knew after this, they’d definitely need a wash.

Once he paused, you relaxed your hold and flopped down on the mattress. Your hips were propped up on a wad of comforter and soft sheets. You let your legs fall open and you stretched your torso just for his enjoyment.

His dark gaze roved over you. “Shit, baby, you’re so pretty.” He purred, “Fuck, these tits.”

He bent and kissed your breasts, sucking on your nipples one after the other. You writhed under him and carded your fingers into his sweat-dampened hair. He nuzzled at the underside of your breasts and licked up the fresh sweat.

You lazily grinned up at the ceiling with sleepy eyes as he kissed up the center of your chest. You curled forward to kiss his lips once he was hovering over you. You could taste your skin and the salt of your sweat on his tongue.

Between kisses, you told him to get inside you. You ran your hands down his sides until you got two handfuls of his ass. You pulled him tight to you and rolled your hips against his. His hard, slick cock was right on your mound. You tilted your pelvis a little to feel it slide in your wet slit.

He moved with you and bit his red bottom lip in concentration.

After a minute, you patted his hip and requested he give you space. When he did, you pushed your hand between your bodies. You took hold of his hefty cock and guided him to your opening. You held him as he began the slow push inside until your fist met your body.

You moaned as he filled you once more. Each time you had sex with him, it felt like blessed revelation. Sex could actually feel like _this_ , could feel so _right_. It didn’t have to be perfect, because that was an impossibility, you just wanted that connection. And he was right there with you.

He adjusted his position on his elbows, pushing his forearms under your shoulders to hold you, and spread his knees. He pressed you into the bed and asked if you were ready. You braced yourself with a hand on the headboard and kissed him in reply.

Flip began tugging you down as he thrust up. He was so deep, and you moved with him. He was somehow rubbing right against your clit. And the faster he thrust, the more intense everything became.

You cursed and hid your face in his neck, kissing his stubbled jaw. His necklace trailed over your skin. You felt the rumble of his groan against your mouth.

“I’m gonna come,” you whispered, and it was true. The heat and tension were building inside you.

“Good, come on my dick,” he bit out and fucked faster.

Each deep thrust pushed noise out of your chest until you had no more. You held onto him, gasping and straining and clawing at him until you felt like you were breaking. That internal tension snapped like a brittle twig. You suddenly found your voice and cried out as you came in overpowering surges.

Above you, Flip let his head drop against your shoulder. He groaned and pumped his cock inside you one, two, three times before following you into orgasm. You were conscious of each gush of his climax against your cervix. It was a bone-deep satisfaction to feel it.

Flip watched your sweet ass jiggle as you strode to the bathroom. Well, he privately mused, maybe _stride_ wasn’t the word for the way you were walking. There was a decided quaver to your steps. He smirked as he thought that he’d done that to you.

He adjusted the wedge of pillows under his shoulder and rested his head on his bent arm. The afternoon sun coming in through the window warmed his calves. He drew a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand and lit it. His fingers smelled like pussy. _Your pussy._ His gut clenched. _Fuck._

Two of his favorite things: nicotine and you.

He pulled hot smoke into his lungs and breathed out through his nose. The ritual of it was relaxing. He could almost fall asleep like this. He curled a leg to the side and ignored the wet smear his cock left on his inner thigh. He’d take a shower with you later. Right now he felt too lethargic to do much of anything else.

Except for one thing.

He listened carefully as you moved around in the bathroom before tapping the ash of the cigarette in the ashtray and opening the nightstand drawer. At the back of the drawer, he’d tucked away his late mother’s gold wedding ring. He hadn’t known the inside was engraved in Hebrew until Hospice had given him her jewelry. After visiting a local synagogue, he learned that the inscription was a line from the Song of Solomon:

_“I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.”_

While it wasn’t a traditional engagement ring, it would do. He’d get you whatever you wanted later. But for now, it was a good token of his intentions.

Because he intended to marry the shit out of you and keep you always.

“Hey, baby,” he called as he slipped the ring onto his pinkie finger. “You got a minute?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! [You can find me on my Tumblr.](http://the-wayward-rose.tumblr.com)


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